on  FIT  OF 
Estate   Of 

Caroline   E.   Le   Conte 


/£>  x£>.  -^  -  »        /»       -J 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


BY 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


IN   TWO    VOLUMES. 
VOL.    II. 


A    NEW    EDITION 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,    REED,   AND    FIELDS. 

MDCCCLI. 


. 


l5-«£fl 

i  jk/V  / 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  ]851,  by 

NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


BOSTON: 

TTTURSTON,   TORRT,   AND   EMERSON, 
Printers,  Devonshire  Street. 


CONTENTS. 

VOL.  n. 

LEGENDS  OF  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 

)<I.  Howe's  Masquerade  .        .        .        .        .       5 

K.II.  Edward  Randolph's  Portrait       .        .        ,        ,        25 

fi    III.  Lady  Eleanore's  Mantle         .    *    .        .        .        .42 

IV.  Old  Esther  Dudley 64 

THE  HAUNTED  MIND  • 80 

THE  VILLAGE  UNCLE       .        •        .        .        .         .         .        87 

THE  AMBITIOUS  GUEST 103 

THE  SISTER  YEARS       .        .        .        ;"        «        •        •        115 
SNOW  FLAKES     .        •»••••••  125 

THE  SEVEN  VAGABONDS         .        •        •        •        •        •         133 

THE  WHITE  OLD  MAID -.  .         -157 

PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE          ....         172 

CHIPPINGS  WITH  A  CHISEL 201 

THE  SHAKER  BRIDAL ,  •        •        216 

NIGHT  SKETCHES 224 

^JENDICOTT    AND    THE    RED    CROSS 233 

THE  LILY'S  QUEST 243 

FOOT-PRINTS  ON  THE  SEASHORE     .....  253 

EDWARD  FANE'S  ROSEBUD 267 

THE  THREEFOLD  DESTINY 277 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 

I. 
HOWE'S  MASQUERADE. 

ONE  afternoon,  last  summer,  while  walking  along 
Washington  street,  my  eye  was  attracted  by  a  sign 
board  protruding  over  a  narrow  archway,  nearly 
opposite  the  Old  South  Church.  The  sign  represented 
the  front  of  a  stately  edifice,  which  was  designated  as 
the  "  OLD  PROVINCE  HOUSE,  kept  by  Thomas  Waite." 
I  was  glad  to  be  thus  reminded  of  a  purpose,  long 
entertained,  of  visiting  and  rambling  over  the  mansion 
of  the  old  royal  governors  of  Massachusetts  ;  and 
entering  the  arched  passage,  which  penetrated  through 
the  middle  of  a  brick  row  of  shops,  a  few  steps  trans 
ported  me  from  the  busy  heart  of  modern  Boston, 
into  a  small  and  secluded  court-yard.  One  side  of 
this  space  was  occupied  by  the  square  front  of  the 
Province  House,  three  stories  high,  and  surmounted 
by  a  cupola,  on  the  top  of  which  a  gilded  Indian  was 
discernible,  with  his  bow  bent  and  his  arrow  on  the 
string,  as  if  aiming  at  the  weathercock  on  the  spire  of 
the  Old  South.  The  figure  has  kept  this  attitude  for 

VOL.   II.  1 


6  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

seventy  years  or  more,  ever  since  good  Deacon 
Drowne,  a  cunning  carver  of  wood,  first  stationed  him 
on  his  long  sentinel's  watch  over  the  city. 

The  Province  House  is  constructed  of  brick,  which 
seems  recently  to  have  been  overlaid  with  a  coat  of 
light  colored  paint.  A  flight  of  red  freestone  steps, 
fenced  in  by  a  balustrade  of  curiously  wrought  iron, 
ascends  from  the  court-yard  to  the  spacious  porch, 
over  which  is  a  balcony,  with  an  iron  balustrade  of 
similar  pattern  and  workmanship  to  that  beneath. 
These  letters  and  figures—  16  P.  S.  79  — are  wrought 
into  the  iron  work  of  the  balcony,  and  probably  ex 
press  the  date  of  the  edifice,  with  the  initials  of  its 
founder's  name.  A  wide  door  with  double  leaves 
admitted  me  into  the  hall  or  entry,  on  the  right  of 
which  is  the  entrance  to  the  bar-room. 

It  was  in  this  apartment,  I  presume,  that  the  ancient 
governors  held  their  levees,  with  vice-regal  pomp, 
surrounded  by  the  military  men,  the  counsellors,  the 
judges,  and  other  officers  of  the  crown,  while  all  the 
loyalty  of  the  province  thronged  to  do  them  honor. 
But  the  room,  in  its  present  condition,  cannot  boast 
even  of  faded  magnificence.  The  paneled  wainscot 
is  covered  with  dingy  paint,  and  acquires  a  duskier 
hue  from  the  deep  shadow  into  which  the  Province 
House  is  thrown  by  the  brick  block  that  shuts  it  in 
from  Washington  street.  A  ray  of  sunshine  never 
visits  this  apartment  any  more  than  the  glare  of  the 
festal  torches,  which  have  been  extinguished  from 
the  era  of  the  revolution.  The  most  venerable  and 
ornamental  object,  is  a  chimney-piece  set  round  with 
Dutch  tiles  of  blue-figured  China,  representing  scenes 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  7 

from  Scripture;  and,  for  aught  I  know,  the  lady  of 
Pownall  or  Bernard  may  have  sate  beside  this  fire 
place,  and  told  her  children  the  story  of  each  blue 
tile.  A  bar  in  modern  style,  well  replenished  with 
decanters,  bottles,  cigar-boxes,  and  net-work  bags  of 
lemons,  and  provided  with  a  beer-pump  and  a  soda- 
fount,  extends  along  one  side  of  the  room.  At  my 
entrance,  an  elderly  person  was  smacking  his  lips, 
with  a  zest  which  satisfied  me  that  the  cellars  of  the 
Province  House  still  hold  good  liquor,  though  doubt 
less  of  other  vintages  than  were  quaffed  by  the  old 
governors.  After  sipping  a  glass  of  port-sangaree, 
prepared  by  the  skilful  hands  of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite, 
I  besought  that  worthy  successor  and  representative  of 
so  many  historic  personages  to  conduct  me  over  their 
time-honored  mansion. 

He  readily  complied  ;  but,  to  confess  the  truth,  I 
was  forced  to  draw  strenuously  upon  my  imagination, 
in  order  to  find  aught  that  was  interesting  in  a  house 
which,  without  its  historic  associations,  would  have 
seemed  merely  such  a  tavern  as  is  usually  favored  by 
the  custom  of  decent  city  boarders,  and  old  fashioned 
country  gentlemen.  The  chambers,  which  were  prob 
ably  spacious  in  former  times,  are  now  cut  up  by 
partitions,  and  subdivided  into  little  nooks,  each  afford 
ing  scanty  room  for  the  narrow  bed,  and  chair,  and 
dressing-table,  of  a  single  lodger.  The  great  staircase, 
however,  may  be  termed,  without  much  hyperbole,  a 
feature  of  grandeur  and  magnificence.  It  winds  through 
the  midst  of  the  house  by  flights  of  broad  steps,  each 
flight  terminating  in  a  square  landing-place,  whence 
the  ascent  is  continued  towards  the  cupola.  A  carved 


8  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

balustrade,  freshly  painted  in  the  lower  stories,  but 
growing  dingier  as  we  ascend,  borders  the  staircase 
with  its  quaintly  twisted  and  intertwined  pillars,  from 
top  to  bottom.  Up  these  stairs  the  military  boots,  or 
perchance  the  gouty  shoes  of  many  a  governor  have 
trodden,  as  the  wearers  mounted  to  the  cupola,  which 
afforded  them  so  wide  a  view  over  their  metropolis 
and  the  surrounding  country.  The  cupola  is  an  octa 
gon,  with  several  windows,  and  a  door  opening  upon 
the  roof.  From  this  station,  as  I  pleased  myself  with 
imagining,  Gage  may  have  beheld  his  disastrous  vic 
tory  on  Bunker  Hill,  (unless  one  of  the  tri-mountains 
intervened,)  and  Howe  have  marked  the  approaches 
of  Washington's  besieging  army  ;  although  the  build 
ings,  since  erected  in  the  vicinity,  have  shut  out 
almost  every  object,  save  the  steeple  of  the  Old  South, 
which  seems  almost  within  arm's  length.  Descending 
from  the  cupola,  I  paused  in  the  garret  to  observe 
the  ponderous  whiteoak  framework,  so  much  more 
massive  than  the  frames  of  modern  houses,  and 
thereby  resembling  an  antique  skeleton.  The  brick 
walls,  the  materials  of  which  were  imported  from 
Holland,  and  the  timbers  of  the  mansion,  are  still  as 
sound  as  ever ;  but  the  floors  and  other  interior  parts 
being  greatly  decayed,  it  is  contemplated  to  gut  the 
whole,  and  build  a  new  house  within  the  ancient 
frame  and  brick  work.  Among  other  inconveniences 
of  the  present  edifice,  mine  host  mentioned  that  any 
jar  or  motion  was  apt  to  shake  down  the  dust  of  ages 
out  of  the  ceiling  of  one  chamber  upon  the  floor  of 
that  beneath  it. 

We  stepped  forth  from  the  great  front  window  into 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  9 

the  balcony,  wh'ere,  in  old  times,  it  was  doubtless  the 
custom  of  the  king's  representative  to  show  himself  to 
a  loyal  populace,  requiting  their  huzzas  and  tossed-up 
hats  with  stately  bendings  of  his  dignified  person.  In 
those  days,  the  front  of  the  Province  House  looked 
upon  the  street ;  and  the  whole  site  now  occupied  by 
the  brick  range  of  stores,  as  well  as  the  present  court 
yard,  was  laid  out  in  grass  plats,  overshadowed  by 
trees  and  bordered  by  a  wrought  iron  fence.  Now, 
the  old  aristocratic  edifice  hides  its  time-worn  visage 
behind  an  upstart  modern  building  ;  at  one  of  the  back 
windows  I  observed  some  pretty  tailoresses,  sewing, 
and  chatting,  and  laughing,  with  now  and  then  a 
careless  glance  towards  the  balcony.  Descending 
thence,  we  again  entered  the  bar-room,  where  the 
elderly  gentleman  above  mentioned,  the  smack  of 
whose  lips  had  spoken  so  favorably  for  Mr.  Waite's 
good  liquor,  was  still  lounging  in  his  chair.  He 
seemed  to  be,  if  not  a  lodger,  at  least  a  familiar  visitor 
of  the  house,  who  might  be  supposed  to  have  his 
regular  score  at  the  bar,  his  summer  seat  at  the  open 
window,  and  his  prescriptive  corner  at  the  winter's 
fireside.  Being  of  a  sociable  aspect,  I  ventured  to 
address  him  with  a  remark,  calculated  to  draw  forth 
his  historical  reminiscences,  if  any  such  were  in  his 
mind  ;  and  it  gratified  me  to  discover,  that,  between 
memory  and  tradition,  the  old  gentleman  was  really 
possessed  of  some  very  pleasant  gossip  about  the 
Province  Housed  The  portion  of  his  talk  which  chiefly 
interested  me,  was  the  outline  of  the  following  legend. 
He  professed  to  have  received  it  at  one  or  two  removes 
from  an  eyewitness ;  but  this  derivation,  together 


10  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

with  the  lapse  of  time,  must  have  afforded  opportuni 
ties  for  many  variations  of  the  narrative  ;  so  that, 
despairing  of  literal  and  absolute  truth,  I  have  not 
scrupled  to  make  such  further  changes  as  seemed 
conducive  to  the  reader's  profit  and  delight. 


At  one  of  the  entertainments  given  at  the  Province 
House,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  siege  of  Boston, 
there  passed  a  scene  which  has  never  yet  been  satis 
factorily  explained.  The  officers  of  the  British  army, 
and  the  loyal  gentry  of  the  province,  most  of  whom 
were  collected  within  the  beleagured  town,  had  been 
invited  to  a  masqued  ball  ;  for  it  was  the  policy  of 
Sir  William  Howe  to  hide  the  distress  and  danger  of 
the  period,  and  the  desperate  aspect  of  the  siege, 
under  an  ostentation  of  festivity.  The  spectacle  of 
this  evening,  if  the  oldest  members  of  the  provincial 
court  circle  might  be  believed,  was  the  most  gay  and 
gorgeous  affair  that  had  occurred  in  the  annals  of  the 
government.  The  brilliantly  lighted  apartments  were 
thronged  with  figures  that  seemed  to  have  stepped 
from  the  dark  canvas  of  historic  portraits,  or  to  have 
flitted  forth  from  the  magic  pages  of  romance,  or  at 
least  to  have  flown  hither  from  one  of  the  London 
theatres,  without  a  change  of  garments.  Steeled 
knights  of  the  Conquest,  bearded  statesmen  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  high-ruffled  ladies  of  her  court,  were 
mingled  with  characters  of  comedy,  such  as  a  parti 
colored  Merry  Andrew,  jingling  his  cap  and  bells ;  a 
Falstaffe,  almost  as  provocative  of  laughter  as  his 
prototype  ;  and  a  Don  Quixote,  with  a  bean-pole  for 
a  lance,  and  a  pot-lid  for  a  shield. 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  11 

But  the  broadest  merriment  was  excited  by  a  group 
of  figures  ridiculously  dressed  in  old  regimentals, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  purchased  at  a  military 
rag-fair,  or  pilfered  from  some  receptacle  of  the  cast- 
off  clothes  of  both  the  French  and  British  armies. 
Portions  of  their  attire  had  probably  been  worn  at  the 
siege  of  Louisburg,  and  the  coats  of  most  recent  cut 
might  have  been  rent  and  tattered  by  sword,  ball,  or 
bayonet,  as  long  ago  as  Wolfe's  victory.  One  of 
these  worthies  —  a  tall,  lank  figure,  brandishing  a 
rusty  sword  of  immense  longitude  —  purported  to  be 
no  less  a  personage  than  General  George  Washing 
ton  ;  and  the  other  principal  officers  of  the  American 
army,  such  as  Gates,  Lee,  Putnam,  Schuyler,  Ward 
and  Heath,  were  represented  by  similar  scare-crows. 
An  interview  in  the  mock  heroic  style,  between  the 
rebel  warriors  and  the  British  commander-in-chief, 
was  received  with  immense  applause,  which  .came 
loudest  of  all  from  the  loyalists  of  the  colony.  There 
was  one  of  the  guests,  however,  who  stood  apart, 
eyeing  these  antics  sternly  and  scornfully,  at  once 
with  a  frown  and  a  bitter  smile. 

It  was  an  old  man,  formerly  of  high  station  and 
great  repute  in  the  province,  and  who  had  been  a  very 
famous  soldier  in  his  day.  Some  surprise  had  been 
expressed,  that  a  person  of  Colonel  Joliffe's  known 
whig  principles,  though  now  too  old  to  take  an  active 
part  in  the  contest,  should  have  remained  in  Boston 
during  the  siege,  and  especially  that  he  should  consent 
to  show  himself  in  the  mansion  of  Sir  William  Howe. 
But  thither  he  had  come,  with  a  fair  grand-daughter 
under  his  arm  ;  and  there,  amid  all  the  mirth  and 


1*  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

buffoonery,  stood  this  stern  old  figure,  the  best  sus 
tained  character  in  the  masquerade,  because  so  well 
representing  the  antique  spirit  of  his  native  land.  The 
other  guests  affirmed  that  Colonel  Joliffe's  black  puri 
tanical  scowl  threw  a  shadow  round  about  him  ; 
although  in  spite  of  his  sombre  influence,  their  gaiety 
continued  to  blaze  higher,  like  —  (an  ominous  com 
parison)  —  the  flickering  brilliancy  of  a  lamp  which 
has  but  a  little  while  to  burn.  Eleven  strokes,  full 
half  an  hour  ago,  had  pealed  from  the  clock  of  the 
Old  South,  when  a  rumor  was  circulated  among  the 
company  that  some  new  spectacle  or  pageant  was 
about  to  be  exhibited,  which  should  put  a  fitting  close 
to  the  splendid  festivities  of  the  night. 

c  What  new  jest  has  your  Excellency  in  hand  ? ' 
asked  the  Reverend  Mather  Byles,  whose  Presbyterian 
scruples  had  not  kept  him  from  the  entertainment. 
1  Trust  me,  sir,  I  have  already  laughed  more  than 
beseems  my  cloth,  at  your  Homeric  confabulation 
with  yonder  ragamuffin  General  of  the  rebels.  One 
other  such  fit  of  merriment,  and  I  must  throw  off  my 
clerical  wig  and  band.' 

4  Not  so,  good  Doctor  Byles,'  answered  Sir  William 
Howe  ;  '  if  mirth  were  a  crime,  you  had  never  gained 
your  doctorate  in  divinity.  As  to  this  new  foolery,  I 
know  no  more  about  it  than  yourself;  perhaps  not  so 
much.  Honestly  now,  Doctor,  have  you  not  stirred 
up  the  sober  brains  of  some  of  your  countrymen  to 
enact  a  scene  in  our  masquerade  ? ' 

1  Perhaps,'  slyly  remarked  the  grand-daughter  of 
Colonel  Joliffe,  whose  high  spirit  had  been  stung  by 
many  taunts  against  New  England  — '  perhaps  we 


13 

are  to  have  a  masque  of  allegorical  figures.  Victory, 
with  trophies  from  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill  — 
Plenty,  with  her  overflowing  horn,  to  typify  the  pres 
ent  abundance  in  this  good  town  —  and  Glory,  with 
a  wreath  for  his  Excellency's  brow.' 

Sir  William  Howe  smiled  at  words  which  he  would 
have  answered  with  one  of  his  darkest  frowns,  had 
they  been  uttered  by  lips  that  wore  a  beard.  He  was 
spared  the  necessity  of  a  retort,  by  a  singular  inter 
ruption.  A  sound  of  music  was  heard  without  the 
house,  as  if  proceeding  from  a  full  band  of  military 
instruments  stationed  in  the  street,  playing  not  such  a 
festal  strain  as  was  suited  to  the  occasion  ;  but  a  slow 
funeral  march.  The  drums  appeared  to  be  muffled, 
and  the  trumpets  poured  forth  a  wailing  breath,  which 
at  once  hushed  the  merriment  of  the  auditors,  filling 
all  with  wonder,  and  some  with  apprehension.  The 
idea  occurred  to  many,  that  either  the  funeral  proces 
sion  of  some  great  personage  had  halted  in  front  of 
the  Province  House,  or  that  a  corpse,  in  a  velvet- 
covered  and  gorgeously  decorated  coffin,  was  about  to 
be  borne  from  the  portal.  After  listening  a  moment, 
Sir  William  Howe  called,  in  a  stern  voice,  to  the 
leader  of  the  musicians,  who  had  hitherto  enlivened 
the  entertainment  with  gay  and  lightsome  melodies. 
The  man  was  drum-major  to  one  of  the  British  regi 
ments. 

'  Dighton,'  demanded  the  General,  '  what  means  this 
foolery  ?  Bid  your  band  silence  that  dead  march  — 
or,  by  my  word,  they  shall  have  sufficient  cause  for 
their  lugubrious  strains  !  Silence  it,  sirrah  ! ' 

4  Please   your   honor,'    answered   the    drum-major, 


14  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

whose  rubicund  visage  had  lost  all  its  color,  '  the  fault 
is  none  of  mine.  I  and  my  band  are  all  here  together ; 
and  I  question  whether  there  be  a  man  of  us  that  could 
play  that  march  without  book.  I  never  heard  it  but 
once  before,  and  that  was  at  the  funeral  of  his  late 
Majesty,  King  George  the  Second.' 

1  Well,  well ! '  said  Sir  William  Howe,  recovering 
his  composure  — '  it  is  the  prelude  to  some  masquer 
ading  antic.  Let  it  pass.' 

A  figure  now  presented  itself,  but  among  the  many 
fantastic  masks  that  were  dispersed  through  the  apart 
ments,  none  could  tell  precisely  from  whence  it  came. 
It  was  a  man  in  an  old  fashioned  dress  of  black  serge, 
and  having  the  aspect  of  a  steward,  or  principal  domes 
tic  in  the  household  of  a  nobleman,  or  great  English 
landholder.  This  figure  advanced  to  the  outer  door 
of  the  mansion,  and  throwing  both  its  leaves  wide 
open,  withdrew  a  little  to  one  side  and  looked  back 
towards  the  grand  staircase,  as  if  expecting  some 
person  to  descend.  At  the  same  time,  the  music  in 
the  street  sounded  a  loud  and  doleful  summons.  The 
eyes  of  Sir  William  Howe  and  his  guests  being  directed 
to  the  staircase,  there  appeared,  on  the  uppermost 
landing-place  that  was  discernible  from  the  bottom, 
several  personages  descending  towards  the  door.  The 
foremost  was  a  man  of  stern  visage,  wearing  a  steeple- 
crowned  hat  and  a  skull-cap  beneath  it ;  a  dark  cloak, 
and  huge  wrinkled  boots  that  came  half  way  up  his 
legs.  Under  his  arm  was  a  rolled-up  banner,  which 
seemed  to  be  the  banner  of  England,  but  strangely 
rent  and  torn  ;  he  had  a  sword  in  his  right  hand,  and 
grasped  a  Bible  in  his  left.  The  next  figure  was  of 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  15 

milder  aspect,  yet  full  of  dignity,  wearing  a  broad  ruff, 
over  which  descended  a  beard,  a  gown  of  wrought 
velvet,  and  a  doublet  and  hose  of  black  satin.  He 
carried  a  roll  of  manuscript  in  his  hand.  Close  behind 
these  two,  came  a  young  man  of  very  striking  counte 
nance  and  demeanor,  with  deep  thought  and  contem 
plation  on  his  brow,  and  perhaps  a  flash  of  enthusiasm 
in  his  eye.  His  garb,  like  that  of  his  predecessors, 
was  of  an  antique  fashion,  and  there  was  a  stain  of 
blood  upon  his  ruff.  In  the  same  group  with  these, 
were  three  or  four  others,  all  men  of  dignity  and  evi 
dent  command,  and  bearing  themselves  like  personages 
who  were  accustomed  to  the  gaze  of  the  multitude. 
It  was  the  idea  of  the  beholders,  that  these  figures 
went  to  join  the  mysterious  funeral  that  had  halted  in 
front  of  the  Province  House ;  yet  that  supposition 
seemed  to  be  contradicted  by  the  air  of  triumph  with 
which  they  waved  their  hands,  as  they  crossed  the 
threshold  and  vanished  through  the  portal. 

'  In  the  devil's  name,  what  is  this  ? '  muttered  Sir 
William  Howe  to  a  gentleman  beside  him ;  '  a  pro 
cession  of  the  regicide  judges  of  King  Charles  the 
martyr  ? ' 

4  These,'  said  Colonel  Joliffe,  breaking  silence  almost 
for  the  first  time  that  evening  —  'these,  if  I  interpret 
them  aright,  are  the  Puritan  governors  —  the  rulers  of 
the  old,  original  Democracy  of  Massachusetts.  Endi- 
cott,  with  the  banner  from  which  he  had  torn  the 
symbol  of  subjection,  and  Winthrop,  and  Sir  Henry 
Vane,  and  Dudley,  Haynes,  Bellingham,  and  Lev- 
erett.' 

'  Why  had  that  young  man  a  stain  of  blood  upon 
his  ruff? '  asked  Miss  Joliffe. 


16  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

'  Because,  in  after  years,'  answered  her  grand 
father,  '  he  laid  down  the  wisest  head  in  England 
upon  the  block,  for  the  principles  of  liberty.' 

4  Will  not  your  Excellency  order  out  the  guard  ?  ' 
whispered  Lord  Percy,  who,  with  other  British  officers, 
had  now  assembled  round  the  General.  '  There  may 
be  a  plot  under  this  mummery.' 

'  Tush  !  we  have  nothing  to  fear,'  carelessly  replied 
Sir  William  Howe.  '  There  can  be  no  worse  treason 
in  the  matter  than  a  jest,  and  that  somewhat  of  the 
dullest.  Even  were  it  a  sharp  and  bitter  one,  our  best 
policy  would  be  to  laugh  it  off.  See  —  here  come 
more  of  these  gentry.' 

Another  group  of  characters  had  now  partly  de 
scended  the  staircase.  The  first  was  a  venerable  and 
white-bearded  patriarch,  who  cautiously  felt  his  way 
downward  with  a  staff.  Treading  hastily  behind  him, 
and  stretching  forth  his  gauntleted  hand  as  if  to  grasp 
the  old  man's  shoulder,  came  a  tall,  soldier-like  figure, 
equipped  with  a  plumed  cap  of  steel,  a  bright  breast 
plate,  and  a  long  sword,  which  rattled  against  the 
stairs.  Next  was  seen  a  stout  man,  dressed  in  rich 
and  courtly  attire,  but  not  of  courtly  demeanor ;  his 
gait  had  the  swinging  motion  of  a  seaman's  walk ; 
and  chancing  to  stumble  on  the  staircase,  he  suddenly 
grew  wrathful,  and  was  heard  to  mutter  an  oath.  He 
was  followed  by  a  noble-looking  personage  in  a  curled 
wig,  such  as  are  represented  in  the  portraits  of  Queen 
Anne's  time  and  earlier  ;  and  the  breast  of  his  coat  was 
decorated  with  an  embroidered  star.  While  advanc 
ing  to  the  door,  he  bowed  to  the  right  hand  and  to  the 
left,  in  a  very  gracious  and  insinuating  style ;  but  as 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  17 

he  crossed  the  threshold,  unlike  the  early  Puritan 
governors,  he  seemed  to  wring  his  hands  with  sorrow. 

4  Prithee,  play  the  part  of  a  chorus,  good  Doctor 
Byles,'  said  Sir  William  Howe.  '  What  worthies  are 
these  ?  ' 

4  If  it  please  your  Excellency,  they  lived  somewhat 
before  my  day,'  answered  the  doctor ;  '  but  doubtless 
our  friend,  the  Colonel,  has  been  hand  and  glove  with 
them.' 

4  Their  living  faces  I  never  looked  upon,'  said 
Colonel  Joliffe,  gravely  ;  ''although  I  have  spoken  face 
to  face  with  many  rulers  of  this  land,  and  shall  greet 
yet  another  with  an  old  man's  blessing,  ere  I  die.  But 
we  talk  of  these  figures.  I  take  the  venerable  patriarch 
to  be  Bradstrcet,  the  last  of  the  Puritans,  who  was 
governor  at  ninety,  or  thereabouts.  The  next  is  Sir 
Edmund  Andros,  a  tyrant,  as  any  New  England 
schoolboy  will  tell  you ;  and  therefore  the  people 
cast  him  down  from  his  high  seat  into  a  dungeon. 
Then  comes  Sir  William  Phipps,  shepherd,  cooper, 
sea-captain,  and  governor  —  may  many  of  his  coun 
trymen  rise  as  high,  from  as  low  an  origin !  Lastly, 
you  saw  the  gracious  Earl  of  Bellamont,  who  ruled 
us  under  King  William.' 

4  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ? '  asked  Lord 
Percy. 

4  Now,  were  I  a  rebel,'  said  Miss  Joliffe,  half  aloud, 
4 1  might  fancy  that  the  ghosts  of  these  ancient 
governors  had  been  summoned  to  form  the  funeral 
procession  of  royal  authority  in  New  England.' 

Several  other  figures  were  now  seen  at  the  turn  of 
the  staircase.  The  one  in  advance  had  a  thoughtful, 


18  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

anxious,  and  somewhat  crafty  expression  of  face  ; 
and  in  spite  of  his  loftiness  of  manner,  which  was 
evidently  the  result  both  of  an  ambitious  spirit  and  of 
long  continuance  in  high  stations,  he  seemed  not 
incapable  of  cringing  to  a  greater  than  himself.  A 
few  steps  behind  came  an  officer  in  a  scarlet  and 
embroidered  uniform,  cut  in  a  fashion  old  enough  to 
have  been  worn  by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  His 
nose  had  a  rubicund  tinge,  which,  together  with  the 
twinkle  of  his  eye,  might  have  marked  him  as  a  lover 
of  the  winecup  and  good  fellowship  ;  notwithstanding 
which  tokens,  he  appeared  ill  at  ease,  and  often 
glanced  around  him,  as  if  apprehensive  of  some 
secret  mischief.  Next  came  a  portly  gentleman, 
wearing  a  coat  of  shaggy  cloth,  lined  with  silken 
velvet ;  he  had  sense,  shrewdness,  and  humor  in  his 
face,  and  a  folio  volume  under  his  arm ;  but  his 
aspect  was  that  of  a  man  vexed  and  tormented  be 
yond  all  patience,  and  harassed  almost  to  death.  He 
went  hastily  down,  and  was  followed  by  a  dignified 
person,  dressed  in  a  purple  velvet  suit,  with  very  rich 
embroidery ;  his  demeanor  would  have  possessed 
much  stateliness,  only  that  a  grievous  fit  of  the  gout 
compelled  him  to  hobble  from  stair  to  stair,  with 
contortions  of  face  and  body.  When  Doctor  Byles 
beheld  this  figure  on  the  staircase,  he  shivered  as 
with  an  ague,  but  continued  to  watch  him  steadfastly, 
until  the  gouty  gentleman  had  reached  the  threshold, 
made  a  gesture  of  anguish  and  despair,  and  vanished 
into  the  outer  gloom,  whither  the  funeral  music  sum 
moned  him. 

'  Governor    Belcher  !  —  my   old    patron  !  —  in   his 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  19 

very  shape  and  dress  ! '  gasped  Doctor  Byles.  '  This 
is  an  awful  mockery  ! ' 

'  A  tedious  foolery,  rather,'  said  Sir  William  Howe, 
with  an  air  of  indifference.  '  But  who  were  the  three 
that  preceded  him  ?  ' 

4  Governor  Dudley,  a  cunning  politician  —  yet  his 
craft  once  brought  him  to  a  prison,'  replied  Colonel 
Joliffe.  '  Governor  Shute,  formerly  a  Colonel  under 
Marlborough,  and  whom  the  people  frightened  out  of 
the  province ;  and  learned  Governor  Burnet,  whom 
the  legislature  tormented  into  a  mortal  fever.' 

'  Methinks  they  were  miserable  men,  these  royal 
governors  of  Massachusetts,'  observed  Miss  Joliffe. 
'  Heavens,  how  dim  the  light  grows  ! ' 

It  was  certainly  a  fact  that  the  large  lamp  which 
illuminated  the  staircase,  now  burned  dim  and  duski 
ly  :  so  that  several  figures,  which  passed  hastily  down 
the  stairs  and  went  forth  from  the  porch,  appeared 
rather  like  shadows  than  persons  of  fleshly  substance. 
Sir  William  Howe  and  his  guests  stood  at  the  doors 
of  the  contiguous  apartments,  watching  the  progress 
of  this  singular  pageant,  with  various  emotions  of 
anger,  contempt,  or  half  acknowledged  fear,  but  still 
with  an  anxious  curiosity.  The  shapes,  which  now 
seemed  hastening  to  join  the  mysterious  procession, 
were  recognised  rather  by  striking  peculiarities  of 
dress,  or  broad  characteristics  of  manner,  than  by 
any  perceptible  resemblance  of  features  to  their  pro 
totypes.  Their  faces,  indeed,  were  invariably  kept  in 
deep  shadow.  But  Doctor  Byles,  and  other  gentle 
men  who  had  long  been  familiar  with  the  successive 
rulers  of  the  province,  were  heard  to  whisper  the 


^u  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

names  of  Shirley,  of  Pownal,  of  Sir  Francis  Ber 
nard,  and  of  the  well  remembered  Hutchinson  ; 
thereby  confessing  that  the  actors,  whoever  they 
might  be,  in  this  spectral  march  of  governors,  had 
succeeded  in  putting  on  some  distant  portraiture  of 
the  real  personages.  As  they  vanished  from  the  door, 
still  did  these  shadows  toss  their  arms  into  the  gloom 
of  night,  with  a  dread  expression  of  wo.  Following 
the  mimic  representative  of  Hutchinson,  came  a  mili 
tary  figure,  holding  before  his  face  the  cocked  hat 
which  he  had  taken  from  his  powdered  head  ;  but  his 
epaulettes  and  other  insignia  of  rank  were  those  of  a 
general  officer ;  and  something  in  his  mien  reminded 
the  beholders  of  one  who  had  recently  been  master 
of  the  Province  House,  and  chief  of  all  the  land. 

4  The  shape  of  Gage,  as  true  as  in  a  looking-glass,' 
exclaimed  Lord  Percy,  turning  pale. 

4  No,  surely,'  cried  Miss  Joliffe,  laughing  hysteric 
ally  ;  '  it  could  not  be  Gage,  or  Sir  William  would 
have  greeted  his  old  comrade  in  arms !  Perhaps  he 
will  not  suffer  the  next  to  pass  unchallenged.' 

4  Of  that  be  assured,  young  lady,'  answered  Sir 
William  Howe,  fixing  his  eyes,  with  a  very  marked 
expression,  upon  the  immovable  visage  of  her  grand 
father.  4 1  have  long  enough  delayed  to  pay  the 
ceremonies  of  a  host  to  these  departing  guests.  The 
next  that  takes  his  leave  shall  receive  due  courtesy.' 

A  wild  and  dreary  burst  of  music  came  through 
the  open  door.  It  seemed  as  if  the  procession,  which 
had  been  gradually  filling  up  its  ranks,  were  now 
about  to  move,  and  that  this  loud  peal  of  the  wail 
ing  trumpets,  and  roll  of  the  muffled  drums,  were 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  21 

a  call  to  some  loiterer  to  make  haste.  Many  eyes, 
by  an  irresistible  impulse,  were  turned  upon  Sir  Wil 
liam  Howe,  as  if  it  were  he  whom  the  dreary  music 
summoned  to  the  funeral  of  departed  power. 

'  See  !  —  here  comes  the  last ! '  whispered  Miss 
Joliffe,  pointing  her  tremulous  finger  to  the  staircase. 

A  figure  had  come  into  view  as  if  descending  the 
stairs  ;  although  so  dusky  was  the  region  whence  it 
emerged,  some  of  the  spectators  fancied  that  they  had 
seen  this  human  shape  suddenly  moulding  itself  amid 
the  gloom.  Downward  the  figure  came,  with  a  stately 
and  martial  tread,  and  reaching  the  lowest  stair  was 
observed  to  be  a  tall  man,  booted  and  wrapped  in  a 
military  cloak,  which  was  drawn  up  around  the  face 
so  as  to  meet  the  flapped  brim  of  a  laced  hat.  The 
features,  therefore,  were  completely  hidden.  But  the 
British  officers  deemed  that  they  had  seen  that  mili 
tary  cloak  before,  and  even  recognised  the  frayed 
embroidery  on  the  collar,  as  well  as  the  gilded  scab 
bard  of  a  sword  which  protruded  from  the  folds  of  the 
cloak,  and  glittered  in  a  vivid  gleam  of  light.  Apart 
from  these  trifling  particulars,  there  were  character 
istics  of  gait  and  bearing,  which  impelled  the  wonder 
ing  guests  to  glance  from  the  shrouded  figure  to  Sir 
William  Howe,  as  if  to  satisfy  themselves  that  their 
host  had  not  suddenly  vanished  from  the  midst  of  them. 

With  a  dark  flush  of  wrath  upon  his  brow,  they 
saw  the  General  draw  his  sword  and  advance  to  meet 
the  figure  in  the  cloak  before  the  latter  had  stepped 
one  pace  upon  the  floor. 

4  Villain,  unmuffle  yourself! '  cried  he.  '  You  pass 
no  further ! ' 

VOL.  II.  2 


22  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

The  figure,  without  blenching  a  hair's  breadth  from 
the  sword  which  was  pointed  at  his  breast,  made  a 
solemn  pause  and  lowered  the  cape  of  the  cloak  from 
about  his  face,  yet  not  sufficiently  for  the  spectators 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  it.  But  Sir  William  Howe  had 
evidently  seen  enough.  The  sternness  of  his  counte 
nance  gave  place  to  a  look  of  wild  amazement,  if  not 
horror,  while  he  recoiled  several  steps  from  the  figure, 
and  let  fall  his  sword  upon  the  floor.  The  martial 
shape  again  drew  the  cloak  about  his  features  and 
passed  on  ;  but  reaching  the  threshold,  with  his  back 
towards  the  spectators,  he  was  seen  to  stamp  his  foot 
and  shake  his  clenched  hands  in  the  air.  It  was  after 
wards  affirmed  that  Sir  William  Howe  had  repeated 
that  self-same  gesture  of  rage  and  sorrow,  when, 
for  the  last  time,  and  as  the  last  royal  governor,  he 
passed  through  the  portal  of  the  Province  House. 

4  Hark  !  —  the  procession  moves,'  said  Miss  Joliffe. 

The  music  was  dying  away  along  the  street,  and 
its  dismal  strains  were  mingled  with  the  knell  of  mid 
night  from  the  steeple  of  the  Old  South,  and  with  the 
roar  of  artillery,  which  announced  that  the  beleaguer 
ing  armv  of  Washington  had  intrenched  itself  upon  a 
nearer  height  than  before.  As  the  deep  boom  of  the 
cannon  smote  upon  his  ear,  Colonel  JolifFe  raised 
himself  to  the  full  height  of  his  aged  form,  and  smiled 
sternly  on  the  British  General. 

4  Would  your  Excellency  inquire  further  into  the 
mystery  of  the  pageant  ? '  said  he. 

4  Take  care  of  your  gray  head  ! '  cried  Sir  Wil 
liam  Howe,  fiercely,  though  with  a  quivering  lip. 
4  It  has  stood  too  Ions;  on  a  traitor's  shoulders  ! ' 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  23 

1  You  must  make  haste  to  chop  it  off,  then,'  calmly 
replied  the  Colonel ;  '  for  a  few  hours  longer,  and 
not  all  the  power  of  Sir  William  Howe,  nor  of  his 
master,  shall  cause  one  of  these  gray  hairs  to  fall. 
The  empire  of  Britain,  in  this  ancient  province,  is  at 
its  last  gasp  to-night;  —  almost  while  I  speak  it  is  a 
dead  corpse  ;  —  and  methinks  the  shadows  of  the  old 
governors  are  fit  mourners  at  its  funeral ! ' 

With  these  words  Colonel  Joliffe  threw  on  his  cloak, 
and  drawing  his  grand-daughter's  arm  within  his  own, 
retired  from  the  last  festival  that  a  British  ruler  ever  held 
in  the  old  province  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  It  was  sup 
posed  that  the  Colonel  and  the  young  lady  possessed 
some  secret  intelligence  in  regard  to  the  mysterious 
pageant  of  that  night.  However  this  might  be,  such 
knowledge  has  never  become  general.  The, actors  in 
the  scene  have  vanished  into  deeper  obscurity  than 
even  that  wild  Indian  band  who  scattered  the  cargoes 
of  the  tea  ships  on  the  waves,  and  gained  a  place  in 
history,  yet  left  no  names.  But  superstition,  among 
other  legends  of  this  mansion,  repeats  the  wondrous 
tale,  that  on  the  anniversary  night  of  Britain's  discom 
fiture,  the  ghosts  of  the  ancient  governors  of  Massa 
chusetts  still  glide  through  the  portal  of  the  Province 
House.  And,  last  of  all,  comes  a  figure  shrouded  in 
a  military  cloak,  tossing  his  clenched  hands  into  the 
air,  and  stamping  his  iron-shod  boots  upon  the  broad 
freestone  steps,  with  a  semblance  of  feverish  despair, 
but  without  the  sound  of  a  foot-tramp. 


When  the  truth-telling  accents  of  the  elderly  gentle 
man  were  hushed,  I  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 


24  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

round  the  room,  striving,  with  the  best  energy  of  my 
imagination,  to  throw  a  tinge  of  romance  and  historic 
grandeur  over  the  realities  of  the  scene.  But  my 
nostrils  snuffed  up  a  scent  of  cigar-smoke,  clouds  of 
which  the  narrator  had  emitted  by  way  of  visible 
emblem,  I  suppose,  of  the  nebulous  obscurity  of  his 
tale.  Moreover,  my  gorgeous  fantasies  were  wofully 
disturbed  by  the  rattling  of  the  spoon  in  a  tumbler  of 
whisky  punch,  which  Mr.  Thomas  Waite  was  ming 
ling  for  a  customer.  Nor  did  it  add  to  the  picturesque 
appearance  of  the  paneled  walls,  that  the  slate  of  the 
Brooklinc  stage  was  suspended  against  them,  instead 
of  the  armorial  escutcheon  of  some  far-descended 
governor.  A  stage-driver  sat  at  one  of  the  windows, 
reading  a  penny  paper  of  the  day  —  the  Boston  Times 
—  and  presenting  a  figure  which  could  nowise  be 
brought  into  any  picture  of  '  Times  in  Boston,'  seventy 
or  a  hundred  years  ago.  On  the  window-seat  lay  a 
bundle,  neatly  done  up  in  brown  paper,  the  direction 
of  which  I  had  the  idle  curiosity  to  read.  "  Miss 
SUSAN  HUGGINS,  at  the  PROVINCE  HOUSE."  A  pretty 
chamber-maid,  no  doubt.  In  truth,  it  is  desperately 
hard  work,  when  we  attempt  to  throw  the  spell  of  hoar 
antiquity  over  localities  with  which  the  living  world, 
and  the  day  that  is  passing  over  us,  have  aught  to  do. 
Yet,  as  I  glanced  at  the  stately  staircase,  down  which 
the  procession  of  the  old  governors  had  descended, 
and  as  I  emerged  through  the  venerable  portal,  whence 
their  figures  had  preceded  me,  it  gladdened  me  to  be 
conscious  of  a  thrill  of  awe.  Then  diving  through 
the  narrow  archway,  a  few  strides  transported  me 
into  the  densest  throng  of  Washington  street. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   PROVINCE   HOUSE. 

II. 
EDWARD   RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT. 

THE  old  legendary  guest  of  •  the  Province  House 
abode  in  my  remembrance  from  midsummer  till  Janu 
ary.  One  idle  evening,  last  winter,  confident  that  he 
would  be  found  in  the  snuggest  corner  of  the  bar-room, 
I  resolved  to  pay  him  another  visit,  hoping  to  deserve 
well  of  my  country  by  snatching  from  oblivion  some 
else  unheard  of  fact  of  history.  The  night  was  chill 
and  raw,  and  rendered  boisterous  by  almost  a  gale  of 
wind,  which  whistled  along  Washington  street,  causing 
the  gas-lights  to  flare  and  flicker  within  the  lamps. 
As  I  hurried  onward,  my  fancy  was  busy  with  a  com 
parison  between  the  present  aspect  of  the  street,  and 
that  which  it  probably  wore  when  the  British  Governors 
inhabited  the  mansion  whither  I  was  now  going.  Brick 
edifices  in  those  times  were  few,  till  a  succession  of 
destructive  fires  had  swept,  and  swept  again,  the 
wooden  dwellings  and  warehouses  from  the  most 
populous  quarters  of  the  town.  The  buildings  stood 
insulated  and  independent,  not,  as  now,  merging  their 
separate  existences  into  connected  ranges,  with  a  front 


26  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

of  tiresome  identity,  —  but  each  possessing  features 
of  its  own,  as  if  the  owner's  individual  taste  had 
shaped  it,  —  and  the  whole  presenting  a  picturesque 
irregularity,  the  absence  of  which  is  hardly  compen 
sated  by  any  beauties  of  our  modern  architecture. 
Such  a  scene,  dimly  vanishing  from  the  eye  by  the 
ray  of  here  and  there  a  tallow  candle,  glimmering 
through  the  small  panes  of  scattered  windows,  would 
form  a  sombre  contrast  to  the  street,  as  I  beheld  it, 
with  the  gas-lights  blazing  from  corner  to  corner, 
flaming  within  the  shops,  and  throwing  a  noonday 
brightness  through  the  huge  plates  of  glass. 

But  the  black,  lowering  sky,  as  I  turned  my  eyes 
upward,  wore,  doubtless,  the  same  visage  as  when  it 
frowned  upon  the  ante -revolutionary  New  Englanders. 
The  wintry  blast  had  the  same  shriek  that  was  familiar 
to  their  ears.  The  Old  South  church,  too,  still  pointed 
its  antique  spire  into  the  darkness,  and  was  lost  be 
tween  earth  and  heaven ;  and  as  I  passed,  its  clock, 
which  had  warned  so  many  generations  how  transitory 
was  their  lifetime,  spoke  heavily  and  slow  the  same 
unregarded  moral  to  myself.  '  Only  seven  o'clock,' 
thought  I.  '  My  old  friend's  legends  will  scarcely 
kill  the  hours  'twixt  this  and  bedtime.' 

Passing  through  the  narrow  arch,  I  crossed  the  court 
yard,  the  confined  precincts  of  which  were  made 
visible  by  a  lantern  over  the  portal  of  the  Province 
House.  On  entering  the  bar-room,  I  found,  as  I  ex 
pected,  the  old  tradition-monger  seated  by  a  special 
good  fire  of  anthracite,  compelling  clouds  of  smoke 
from  a  corpulent  cigar.  He  recognised  me  with 
evident  pleasure  ;  for  my  rare  properties  as  a  patient 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.  27 

listener  invariably  make  me  a  favorite  with  elderly 
gentlemen  and  ladies  of  narrative  propensities.  Draw 
ing  a  chair  to  the  fire,  I  desired  mine  host  to  favor  us 
with  a  glass  a-piece  of  whisky  punch,  which  was 
speedily  prepared,  steaming  hot,  with  a  slice  of  lemon 
at  the  bottom,  a  dark-red  stratum  of  port  wine  upon 
the  surface,  and  a  sprinkling  of  nutmeg  strewn  over 
all.  As  we  touched  our  glasses  together,  my  legen 
dary  friend  made  himself  known  to  me  as  Mr.  Bela 
Tiffany  ;  and  I  rejoiced  at  the  oddity  of  the  name, 
because  it  gave  his  image  and  character  a  sort  of 
individuality  in  my  conception.  The  old  gentleman's 
draught  acted  as  a  solvent  upon  his  memory,  so 
that  it  overflowed  with  tales,  traditions,  anecdotes  of 
famous  dead  people,  and  traits  of  ancient  manners, 
some  of  which  were  childish  as  a  nurse's  lullaby, 
while  others  might  have  been  worth  the  notice  of  the 
grave  historian.  Nothing  impressed  me  more  than  a 
story  of  a  black,  mysterious  picture,  which  used  to 
hang  in  one  the  chambers  of  the  Province  House, 
directly  above  the  room  where  we  were  now  sitting. 
The  following  is  as  correct  a  version  of  the  fact  as 
the  reader  would  be  likely  to  obtain  from  any  other 
source,  although,  assuredly,  it  has  a  tinge  of  romance 
approaching  to  the  marvellous. 


In  one  of  the  apartments  of  the  Province  House 
there  was  long  preserved  an  ancient  picture,  the  frame 
of  which  was  as  black  as  ebony,  and  the  canvas  itself 
so  dark  with  age,  damp,  and  smoke,  that  not  a  touch 
of  the  painter's  art  could  be  discerned.  Time  had 
thrown  an  impenetrable  veil  over  it,  and  left  to  tra- 


28  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

dition,  and  fable,  and  conjecture,  to  say  what  had  once 
been  there  portrayed.  During  the  rule  of  many  suc 
cessive  governors,  it  had  hung,  by  prescriptive  and 
undisputed  right,  over  the  mantelpiece  of  the  same 
chamber ;  and  it  still  kept  its  place  when  Lieutenant 
Governor  Hutchinson  assumed  the  administration  of 
the  province,  on  the  departure  of  Sir  Francis  Bernard. 

The  Lieutenant  Governor  sat,  one  afternoon,  rest 
ing  his  head  against  the  carved  back  of  his  stately  arm 
chair,  and  gazing  up  thoughtfully  at  the  void  blackness 
of  the  picture.  It  was  scarcely  a  time  for  such  inactive 
musing,  when  affairs  of  the  deepest  moment  required 
the  ruler's  decision  ;  for,  within  that  very  hour  Hutch 
inson  had  received  intelligence  of  the  arrival  of  a 
British  fleet,  bringing  three  regiments  from  Halifax  to 
overawe  the  insubordination  of  the  people.  These 
troops  awaited  his  permission  to  occupy  the  fortress  of 
Castle  William,  and  the  town  itself.  Yet,  instead  of 
affixing  his  signature  to  an  official  order,  there  sat  the 
Lieutenant  Governor,  so  carefully  scrutinizing  the  black 
waste  of  canvas,  that  his  demeanor  attracted  the  notice 
of  two  young  persons  who  attended  him.  One,  wearing 
a  military  dress  of  buff,  was  his  kinsman,  Francis  Lin 
coln,  the  Provincial  Captain  of  Castle  William  ;  the 
other,  who  sat  on  a  low  stool  beside  his  chair,  was 
Alice  Vane,  his  favorite  niece. 

She  was  clad  entirely  in  white,  a  pale,  ethereal 
creature,  who,  though  a  native  of  New  England,  had 
been  educated  abroad,  and  seemed  not  merely  a 
stranger  from  another  clime,  but  almost  a  being  from 
another  world.  For  several  years,  until  left  an  orphan, 
she  had  dwelt  with  her  father  in  sunny  Italy,  and 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.  29 

there  had  acquired  a  taste  and  enthusiasm  for  sculpture 
and  painting,  which  she  found  few  opportunities  of 
gratifying  in  the  undecorated  dwellings  of  the  colonial 
gentry.  It  was  said  that  the  early  productions  of  her 
own  pencil  exhibited  no  inferior  genius,  though,  per 
haps,  the  rude  atmosphere  of  New  England  had 
cramped  her  hand,  and  dimmed  the  glowing  colors  of 
her  fancy.  But  observing  her  uncle's  steadfast  gaze, 
which  appeared  to  search  through  the  mist  of  years  to 
discover  the  subject  of  the  picture,  her  curiosity  was 
excited. 

4  Is  it  known,  my  dear  uncle,'  inquired  she,  '  what 
this  old  picture  once  represented  ?  Possibly,  could  it 
be  made  visible,  it  might  prove  a  masterpiece  of  some 
great  artist  —  else  why  has  it  so  long  held  such  a  con 
spicuous  place  ? ' 

As  her  uncle,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  (for  he 
was  as  attentive  to  all  the  humors  and  caprices  of 
Alice  as  if  she  had  been  his  own  best  beloved  child,) 
did  not  immediately  reply,  the  young  Captain  of  Castle 
William  took  that  office  upon  himself. 

'  This  dark  old  square  of  canvas,  my  fair  cousin,' 
said  he,  '  has  been  an  heirloom  in  the  Province  House 
from  time  immemorial.  As  to  the  painter,  I  can  tell 
you  nothing  ;  but,  if  half  the  stories  told  of  it  be  true, 
not  one  of  the  great  Italian  masters  has  ever  produced 
so  marvellous  a  piece  of  work,  as  that  before  you.' 

Captain  Lincoln  proceeded  to  relate  some  of  the 
strange  fables  and  fantasies,  which,  as  it  was  impossible 
to  refute  them  by  ocular  demonstration,  had  grown  to 
be  articles  of  popular  belief,  in  reference  to  this  old 
picture.  One  of  the  wildest,  and  at  the  same  time  the 


30  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

best  accredited  accounts,  stated  it  to  be  an  original  and 
authentic  portrait  of  the  Evil  One,  taken  at  a  witch 
meeting  near  Salem  ;  and  that  its  strong  and  terrible 
resemblance  has  been  confirmed  by  several  of  the 
confessing  wizards  and  witches,  at  their  trial,  in  open 
court.  It  was  likewise  affirmed  that  a  familiar  spirit, 
or  demon,  abode  behind  the  blackness  of  the  picture, 
and  had  showrn  himself,  at  seasons  of  public  calamity, 
to  more  than  one  of  the  royal  governors.  Shirley,  for 
instance,  had  beheld  this  ominous  apparition,  on  the 
eve  of  General  Abercrombie's  shameful  and  bloody 
defeat  under  the  walls  of  Ticonderoga.  Many  of  the 
servants  of  the  Province  House  had  caught  glimpses 
of  a  visage  frowning  down  upon  them,  at  morning  or 
evening  twilight,  —  or  in  the  depths  of  night,  while 
raking  up  the  fire  that  glimmered  on  the  hearth  be 
neath  ;  although,  if  any  were  bold  enough  to  hold  a 
torch  before  the  picture,  it  would  appear  as  black  and 
undistinguishable  as  ever.  The  oldest  inhabitant  of 
Boston  recollected  that  his  father,  in  whose  days  the 
portrait  had  not  wholly  faded  out  of  sight,  had  once 
looked  upon,  it,  but  would  never  suffer  himself  to  be 
questioned  as  to  the  face  which  was  there  represented. 
In  connection  with  such  stories,  it  was  remarkable  that 
over  the  top  of  the  frame  there  were  some  ragged 
remnants  of  black  silk,  indicating  that  a  veil  had  for 
merly  hung  down  before  the  picture,  until  the  duskiness 
of  time  had  so  effectually  concealed  it.  But,  after  all, 
it  was  the  most  singular  part  of  the  affair,  that  so  many 
of  the  pompous  governors  of  Massachusetts  had  allowed 
the  obliterated  picture  to  remain  in  the  state-chamber 
of  the  Province  House. 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.  31 

4  Some  of  these  fables  are  really  awful,'  observed 
Alice  Vane,  who  had  occasionally  shuddered,  as  well 
as  smiled,  while  her  cousin  spoke.  '  It  would  be  almost 
worth  while  to  wipe  away  the  black  surface  of  the 
canvas,  since  the  original  picture  can  hardly  be  so 
formidable  as  those  which  fancy  paints  instead  of  it.' 

4  But  would  it  be  possible,'  inquired  her  cousin,  '  to 
restore  this  dark  picture  to  its  pristine  hues  ?  ' 

4  Such  arts  are  known  in  Italy,'  said  Alice. 

The  Lieutenant  Governor  had  roused  himself  from 
his  abstracted  mood,  and  listened  with  a  smile  to  the 
conversation  of  his  young  relatives.  Yet  his  voice  had 
something  peculiar  in  its  tones,  when  he  undertook  the 
explanation  of  the  mystery. 

4 1  am  sorry,  Alice,  to  destroy  your  faith  in  the 
legends  of  which  you  are  so  fond,'  remarked  he  ;  4  but 
my  antiquarian  researches  have  long  since  made  me 
acquainted  with  the  subject  of  this  picture  —  if  picture 
it  can  be  called  —  which  is  no  more  visible,  nor  ever 
will  be,  than  the  face  of  the  long  buried  man  whom  it 
once  represented.  It  was  the  portrait  of  Edward  Ran 
dolph,  the  founder  of  this  house,  a  person  famous  in 
the  history  of  New  England.' 

4  Of  that  Edward  Randolph,'  exclaimed  Captain 
Lincoln,  '  who  obtained  the  repeal  of  the  first  provin 
cial  charter,  under  which  our  forefathers  had  enjoyed 
almost  democratic  privileges  !  He  that  was  styled  the 
arch-enemy  of  New  England,  and  whose  memory  is 
still  held  in  detestation,  as  the  destroyer  of  our  liber 
ties  ! ' 

4  It  was  the  same  Randolph,'  answered  Hutchinson, 
moving  uneasily  in  his  chair.  4  It  was  his  lot  to  taste 
the  bitterness  of  popular  odium.' 


32  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

4  Our  annals  tell  us,'  continued  the  Captain  of  Castle 
William,  '  that  the  curse  of  the  people  followed  this 
Randolph  where  he  went,  and  wrought  evil  in  all  the 
subsequent  events  of  his  life,  and  that  its  effect  was 
seen  likewise  in  the  manner  of  his  death.  They  say, 
too,  that  the  inward  misery  of  that  curse  worked  itself 
outward,  and  was  visible  on  the  wretched  man's  coun 
tenance,  making  it  too  horrible  to  be  looked  upon.  If 
so,  and  if  this  picture  truly  represented  his  aspect,  it 
was  in  mercy  that  the  cloud  of  blackness  has  gathered 
over  it.' 

4  These  traditions  are  folly,  to  one  who  has  proved, 
as  I  have,  how  little  of  historic  truth  lies  at  the  bottom,' 
said  the  Lieutenant  Governor.  '  As  regards  the  life 
and  character  of  Edward  Randolph,  too  implicit  cre 
dence  has  been  given  to  Dr.  Cotton  Mather,  who  —  I 
must  say  it,  though  some  of  his  blood  runs  in  my 
veins  —  has  filled  our  early  history  with  old  women's 
tales,  as  fanciful  and  extravagant  as  those  of  Greece 
or  Rome.' 

4  And  yet,'  whispered  Alice  Vane,  4  may  not  such 
fables  have  a  moral  ?  And,  methinks,  if  the  visage 
of  this  portrait  be  so  dreadful,  it  is  not  without  a 
cause  that  it  has  hung  so  long  in  a  chamber  of  the 
Province  House.  When  the  rulers  feel  themselves 
irresponsible,  it  were  well  that  they  should  be  reminded 
of  the  awful  weight  of  a  people's  curse.' 

The  Lieutenant  Governor  started,  and  gazed  for  a 
moment  at  his  niece,  as  if  her  girlish  fantasies  had 
struck  upon  some  feeling  in  his  own  breast,  which  all 
his  policy  or  principles  could  not  entirely  subdue. 
He  knew,  indeed,  that  Alice,  in  spite  of  her  foreign 


33 

education,  retained  the  native  sympathies  of  a  New 
England  girl. 

4  Peace,  silly  child,'  cried  he,  at  last,  more  harshly 
than  he  had  ever  before  addressed  the  gentle  Alice. 
4  The  rebuke  of  a  king  is  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the 
clamor  of  a  wild,  misguided  multitude.  Captain  Lin 
coln,  it  is  decided.  The  fortress  of  Castle  William 
must  be  occupied  by  the  Royal  troops.  The  two 
remaining  regiments  shall  be  billeted  in  the  town,  or 
encamped  upon  the  Common.  It  is  time,  after  years 
of  tumult,  and  almost  rebellion,  that  his  majesty's 
government  should  have  a  wall  of  strength  about  it.' 

4  Trust,  sir  —  trust  yet  awhile  to  the  loyalty  of  the 
people,'  said  Captain  Lincoln ;  4  nor  teach  them  that 
they  can  ever  be  on  other  terms  with  British  soldiers 
than  those  of  brotherhood,  as  when  they  fought  side 
by  side  through  the  French  war.  Do  not  convert  the 
streets  of  your  native  town  into  a  camp.  Think  twice 
before  you  give  up  old  Castle  William,  the  key  of 
the  province,  into  other  keeping  than  that  of  true-born 
New  Englanders.' 

4  Young  man,  it  is  decided,'  repeated  Hutchinson, 
rising  from  his  chair.  4  A  British  officer  will  be  in 
attendance  this  evening,  to  receive  the  necessary  in 
structions  for  the  disposal  of  the  troops.  Your  pres 
ence  also  will  be  required.  Till  then,  farewell.' 

With  these  words  the  Lieutenant  Governor  hastily 
left  the  room,  while  Alice  and  her  cousin  more  slowly 
followed,  whispering  together,  and  once  pausing  to 
glance  back  at  the  mysterious  picture.  The  captain 
of  Castle  William  fancied  that  the  girl's  air  and  mien 
were  such  as  might  have  belonged  to  one  of  those 


34  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

spirits  of  fable  —  fairies,  or  creatures  of  a  more  antique 
mythology,  —  who  sometimes  mingled  their  agency 
with  mortal  affairs,  half  in  caprice,  yet  with  a  sensi 
bility  to  human  weal  or  woe.  As  he  held  the  door  for 
her  to  pass,  Alice  beckoned  to  the  picture  and  smiled. 
'Come  forth,  dark  and  evil  Shape!'  cried  she. 
4  It  is  thine  hour ! ' 

In   the    evening,   Lieutenant   Governor   Hutchinson 
sat  in  the   same  chamber  where  the  foregoing  scene 
had   occurred,  surrounded  by  several  persons  whose 
various  interests  had  summoned  them  together.     There 
were  the  Selectmen  of  Boston,  plain,  patriarchal  fathers 
of  the  people,  excellent  representatives  of  the  old  puri 
tanical  founders,  whose  sombre  strength  had  stamped 
so  deep  an  impress  upon  the  New  England  character. 
Contrasting  with  these  were  one  or  two  members  of 
Council,  richly  dressed  in  the  white  wigs,  the  embroid 
ered  waistcoats  and  other  magnificence   of  the  time, 
and  making  a  somewhat  ostentatious  display  of  cour 
tier-like   ceremonial.      In  attendance,  likewise,  was  a 
major  of  the  British  army,  awaiting  the   Lieutenant 
Governor's  orders  for  the  landing  of  the  troops,  which 
still  remained  on  board  the  transports.     The  Captain 
of  Castle  William    stood   beside    Hutchinson's   chair, 
with   folded   arms,   glancing   rather   haughtily  at   the 
British  officer,  by  whom  he  was  soon  to  be  superseded 
in  his  command.      On  a  table,  in  the   centre   of  the 
chamber,  stood  a  branched  silver  candlestick,  throwing 
down  the  glow  of  half  a  dozen  wax  lights  upon  a  paper 
apparently  ready  for  the   Lieutenant  Governor's  sig 
nature. 

Partly  shrouded  in  the  voluminous  folds  of  one  of 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.  35 

the  window  curtains,  which  fell  from  the  ceiling  to 
the  floor,  was  seen  the  white  drapery  of  a  lady's  robe. 
It  may  appear  strange  that  Alice  Vane  should  have 
been  there,  at  such  a  time  ;  but  there  was  something 
so  childlike,  so  wayward,  in  her  singular  character, 
so  apart  from  ordinary  rules,  that  her  presence  did 
not  surprise  the  few  who  noticed  it.  Meantime,  the 
chairman  of  the  Selectmen  was  addressing  to  the 
Lieutenant  Governor  a  long  and  solemn  protest  against 
the  reception  of  the  British  troops  into  the  town. 

4  And  if  your  Honor,'  concluded  this  excellent,  but 
somewhat  prosy  old  gentleman,  '  shall  see  fit  to  per 
sist  in  bringing  these  mercenary  sworders  and  mus 
keteers  into  our  quiet  streets,  not  on  our  heads  be  the 
responsibility.  Think,  sir,  while  there  is  yet  time, 
that  if  one  drop  of  blood  be  shed,  that  blood  shall  be 
an  eternal  stain  upon  your  Honor's  memory.  You, 
sir,  have  written,  with  an  able  pen,  the  deeds  of  our 
forefathers.  The  more  to  be  desired  is  it,  therefore, 
that  yourself  should  deserve  honorable  mention,  as  a 
true  patriot  and  upright  ruler,  when  your  own  doings 
shall  be  written  down  in  history.' 

4 1  am  not  insensible,  my  good  sir,  to  the  natural 
desire  to  stand  well  in  the  annals  of  my  country,' 
replied  Hutchinson,  controlling  his  impatience  into 
courtesy,  '  nor  know  I  any  better  method  of  attaining 
that  end  than  by  withstanding  the  merely  temporary 
spirit  of  mischief,  which,  with  your  pardon,  seems  to 
have  infected  elder  men  than  myself.  Would  you 
have  me  wait  till  the  mob  shall  sack  the  Province 
House,  as  they  did  my  private  mansion  ?  Trust  me, 
sir,  the  time  may  come  when  you  will  be  glad  to  flee 


36  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

for  protection  to  the  King's  banner,  the  raising  of 
which  is  now  so  distasteful  to  you.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  British  major,  who  was  impatiently 
expecting  the  Lieutenant  Governor's  orders.  '  The 
demagogues  of  this  Province  have  raised  the  devil, 
and  cannot  lay  him  again.  We  will  exorcise  him, 
in  God's  name  and  the  King's.' 

'  If  you  meddle  with  the  devil,  take  care  of  his 
claws  ! '  answered  the  Captain  of  Castle  William,  stirred 
by  the  taunt  against  his  countrymen. 

4  Craving  your  pardon,  young  sir,'  said  the  ven 
erable  Selectman,  '  let  not  an  evil  spirit  enter  into 
your  words.  We  will  strive  against  the  oppressor 
with  prayer  and  fasting,  as  our  forefathers  would 
have  done.  Like  them,  moreover,  we  will  submit 
to  whatever  lot  a  wise  Providence  may  send  us, — 
always,  after  our  own  best  exertions  to  amend  it.' 

'  And  there  peep  forth  the  devil's  claws  ! '  muttered 
Hutchinson,  who  well  understood  the  nature  of  Puritan 
submission.  4  This  matter  shall  be  expedited  forthwith. 
When  there  shall  be  a  sentinel  at  every  corner,  and 
a  court  of  guard  before  the  town-house,  a  loval  gentle 
man  may  venture  to  walk  abroad.  What  to  me  is  the 
outcry  of  a  mob,  in  this  remote  province  of  the  realm  ? 
The  King  is  my  master,  and  England  is  my  country ! 
Upheld  by  their  armed  strength,  I  set  my  foot  upon 
the  rabble,  and  defy  them  ! ' 

He  snatched  a  pen,  and  was  about  to  affix  his  sig 
nature  to  the  paper  that  lay  on  the  table,  when  the 
Captain  of  Castle  William  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  The  freedom  of  the  action,  so  contraiy  to 
the  ceremonious  respect  which  was  then  considered 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.  37 

due  to  rank  and  -dignity,  awakened  general  surprise, 
and  in  none  more  than  in  the  Lieutenant  Governor 
himself.  Looking  angrily  up,  he  perceived  that  his 
young  relative  was  pointing  his  finger  to  the  opposite 
wall.  Hutchinson's  eye  followed  the  signal ;  and  he 
saw,  what  had  hitherto  been  unobserved,  that  a  black 
silk  curtain  was  suspended  before  the  mysterious  pic 
ture,  so  as  completely  to  conceal  it.  His  thoughts 
immediately  recurred  -  to  the  scene  of  the  preceding 
afternoon ;  and,  in  his  surprise,  confused  by  indistinct 
emotions,  yet  sensible  that  his  niece  must  have  had  an 
agency  in  this  phenomenon,  he  called  loudly  upon  her. 

'  Alice  !  —  Come  hither,  Alice  ! ' 

No  sooner  had  he  spoken  than  Alice  Vane  glided 
from  her  station,  and  pressing  one  hand  across  her 
eyes,  with  the  other  snatched  away  the  sable  curtain 
that  concealed  the  portrait.  An  exclamation  of  sur 
prise  burst  from  eveiy  beholder ;  but  the  Lieutenant 
Governor's  voice  had  a  tone  of  horror. 

4  By  heaven,'  said  he,  in  a  low,  inward  murmur, 
speaking  rather  to  himself  than  to  those  around  him, 
4  if  the  spirit  of  Edward  Randolph  were  to  appear 
among  us  from  the  place  of  torment,  he  could  not 
wear  more  of  the  terrors  of  hell  upon  his  face ! ' 

'  For  some  wise  end,'  said  the  aged  Selectman,  sol 
emnly,  '  hath  Providence  scattered  away  the  mist  of 
years  that  had  so  long  hid  this  dreadful  effigy.  Until 
this  hour  no  living  man  hath  seen  what  we  behold ! ' 

Within  the  antique  frame,  which  so  recently  had 
enclosed  a  sable  waste  of  canvas,  now  appeared  a 
visible  picture,  still  dark,  indeed,  in  its  hues  and 
shadings,  but  thrown  forward  in  strong  relief.  It 

VOL.  n.  3 


38  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

was  a  half-length  figure  of  a  gentleman  in  a  rich, 
but  very  old-fashioned  dress  of  embroidered  velvet, 
with  a  broad  ruff  and  a  beard,  and  wearing  a  hat,  the 
brim  of  which  overshadowed  his  forehead.  Beneath 
this  cloud  the  eyes  had  a  peculiar  glare,  which  was 
almost  lifelike.  The  whole  portrait  started  so  dis 
tinctly  out  of  the  back-ground,  that  it  had  the  effect 
of  a  person  looking  down  from  the  wall  at  the  aston 
ished  and  awe-stricken  spectators.  The  expression 
of  the  face,  if  any  words  can  convey  an  idea  of  it, 
was  that  of  a  wretch  detected  in  some  hideous  guilt, 
and  exposed  to  the  bitter  hatred,  and  laughter,  and 
withering  scorn,  of  a  vast  surrounding  multitude. 
There  was  the  struggle  of  defiance,  beaten  down  and 
overwhelmed  by  the  crushing  weight  of  ignominy. 
The  torture  of  the  soul  had  come  forth  upon  the 
countenance.  It  seemed  as  if  the  picture,  while  hid 
den  behind  the  cloud  of  immemorial  years,  had  been 
all  the  time  acquiring  an  intenser  depth  and  darkness 
of  expression,  till  now  it  gloomed  forth  again,  and 
threw  its  evil  omen  over  the  present  hour.  Such,  if 
the  wild  legend  may  be  credited,  was  the  portrait  of 
Edward  Randolph,  as  he  appeared  when  a  people's 
curse  had  wrought  its  influence  upon  his  nature. 

'  'T  would  drive  me  mad  —  that  awful  face  ! '  said 
Hutchinson,  who  seemed  fascinated  by  the  contem 
plation  of  it. 

4  Be  warned,  then  ! '  whispered  Alice.  '  He  tram 
pled  on  a  people's  rights.  Behold  his  punishment  — 
and  avoid  a  crime  like  his  ! ' 

The  Lieutenant  Governor  actually  trembled  for  an 
instant;  but,  exerting  his  energy  —  which  was  not, 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.  39 

however,  his  most  characteristic  feature  —  he  strove 
to  shake  off  the  spell  of  Randolph's  countenance. 

4  Girl ! '  cried  he,  laughing  bitterly,  as  he  turned  to 
Alice,  'have  you  brought  hither  your  painter's  art  — 
your  Italian  spirit  of  intrigue  —  your  tricks  of  stage- 
effect —  and  think  to  influence  the  councils  of  rulers 
and  the  affairs  of  nations,  by  such  shallow  contriv 
ances  ?  See  here  ! ' 

'  Stay  yet  awhile,'  said  the  Selectman,  as  Hutch- 
inson  again  snatched  the  pen ;  '  for  if  ever  mortal 
man  received  a  warning  from  a  tormented  soul,  your 
Honor  is  that  man  ! ' 

'  Away  ! '  answered  Hutchinson  fiercely.  4  Though 
yonder  senseless  picture  cried  "  Forbear  ! "  —  it  should 
not  move  me  ! ' 

Casting  a  scowl  of  defiance  at  the  pictured  face, 
(which  seemed,  at  that  moment,  to  intensify  the  hor 
ror  of  its  miserable  and  wicked  look,)  he  scrawled 
on  the  paper,  in  characters  that  betokened  it  a  deed 
of  desperation,  the  name  of  Thomas  Hutchinson. 
Then,  it  is  said,  he  shuddered,  as  if  that  signature 
had  granted  away  his  salvation. 

6  It  is  done,'  said  he ;  and  placed  his  hand  upon 
his  brow. 

'  May  Heaven  forgive  the  deed,'  said  the  soft,  sad 
accents  of  Alice  Vane,  like  the  voice  of  a  good  spirit 
flitting  away. 

When  morning  came  there  was  a  stifled  whisper 
through  the  household,  and  spreading  thence  about 
the  town,  that  the  dark,  mysterious  picture  had  started 
from  the  wall,  and  spoken  face  to  face  with  Lieuten 
ant  Governor  Hutchinson.  If  such  a  miracle  had  been 


40  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

wrought,  however,  no  traces  of  it  remained  behind ; 
for  within  the  antique  frame,  nothing  could  be  dis 
cerned,  save  the  impenetrable  cloud,  which  had  cov 
ered  the  canvas  since  the  memory  of  man.  If  the 
figure  had,  indeed,  stepped  forth,  it  had  fled  back, 
spirit-like,  at  the  day-dawn,  and  hidden  itself  behind 
a  century's  obscurity.  The  truth  probably  was,  that 
Alice  Vane's  secret  for  restoring  the  hues  of  the  pic 
ture  had  merely  effected  a  temporary  renovation.  But 
those  who,  in  that  brief  interval,  had  beheld  the  awful 
visage  of  Edward  Randolph,  desired  no  second  glance, 
and  ever  afterwards  trembled  at  the  recollection  of 
the  scene,  as  if  an  evil  spirit  had  appeared  visibly 
among  them.  And  as  for  Hutchinson,  when,  far  over 
the  ocean,  his  dying  hour  drew  on,  he  gasped  for 
breath,  and  complained  that  he  was  choking  with  the 
blood  of  the  Boston  Massacre ;  and  Francis  Lincoln, 
the  former  Captain  of  Castle  William,  who  was  stand 
ing  at  his  bedside,  perceived  a  likeness  in  -his  frenzied 
look  to  that  of  Edward  Randolph.  Did  his  broken 
spirit  feel,  at  that  dread  hour,  the  tremendous  burthen 
of  a  People's  curse  ? 


At  the  conclusion  of  this  miraculous  legend,  I  in 
quired  of  mine  host  whether  the  picture  still  remained 
in  the  chamber  over  our  heads ;  but  Mr.  Tiffany  in 
formed  me  that  it  had  long  since  been  removed,  and 
was  supposed  to  be  hidden  in  some  out-of-the-way 
corner  of  the  New  England  Museum.  Perchance 
some  curious  antiquary  may  light  upon  it  there,  and, 
with  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Howorth,  the  picture 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.  41 

cleaner,  may  supply  a  not  unnecessary  proof  of  the 
authenticity  of  the  facts  here  set  down.  During  the 
progress  of  the  story  a  storm  had  been  gathering 
abroad,  and  raging  and  rattling  so  loudly  in  the  upper 
regions  of  the  Province  House,  that  it  seemed  as  if  all 
the  old  Governors  and  great  men  were  running  riot 
above  stairs,  while  Mr.  Bela  Tiffany  babbled  of  them 
below.  In  the  course  of  generations,  when  many 
people  have  lived  and  died  in  an  ancient  house,  the 
whistling  of  the  wind  through  its  crannies,  and  the 
creaking  of  its  beams  and  rafters,  become  strangely 
like  the  tones  of  the  human  voice,  or  thundering  laugh 
ter,  or  heavy  footsteps  treading  the  deserted  chambers. 
It  is  as  if  the  echoes  of  half  a  century  were  revived. 
Such  were  the  ghostly  sounds  that  roared  and  mur 
mured  in  our  ears,  when  I  took  leave  of  the  circle 
round  the  fireside  of  the  Province  House,  and  plunging 
down  the  door-steps,  fought  my  way  homeward  against 
a  drifting  snow-storm. 


LEGENDS    OF    THE    PROVINCE   HOUSE. 

III. 
LADY    ELEANORE'S    MANTLE. 

MINE  excellent  friend,  the  landlord  of  the  Province 
House,  was  pleased,  the  other  evening,  to  invite  Mr. 
Tiffany  and  myself  to  an  oyster  supper.  This  slight 
mark  of  respect  and  gratitude,  as  he  handsomely  ob 
served,  was  far  less  than  the  ingenious  tale-teller,  and 
I,  the  humble  note-taker  of  his  narratives,  had  fairly 
earned,  by  the  public  notice  which  our  joint  lucubra 
tions  had  attracted  to  his  establishment.  Many  a  segar 
had  been  smoked  within  his  premises  —  many  a  glass 
of  wine,  or  more  potent  aqua  vitse,  had  been  quaffed  — 
many  a  dinner  had  been  eaten  by  curious  strangers, 
who,  save  for  the  fortunate  conjunction  of  Mr.  Tiffany 
and  me,  would  never  have  ventured  through  that 
darksome  avenue,  which  gives  access  to  the  historic 
precincts  of  the  Province  House.  In  short,  if  any 
credit  be  due  to  the  courteous  assurances  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Waite,  we  had  brought  his  forgotten  mansion  almost 
as  effectually  into  public  view  as  if  we  had  thrown 
down  the  vulgar  range  of  shoe-shops  and  dry-good 
stores,  which  hides  its  aristocratic  front  from  Washing- 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  43 

ton  street.  It  may  be  imadvisable,  however,  to  speak 
too  loudly  of  the  increased  custom  of  the  house,  lest 
Mr.  Waite  should  find  it  difficult  to  renew  the  lease 
on  so  favorable  terms  as  heretofore. 

Being  thus  welcomed  as  benefactors,  neither  Mr. 
Tiffany  nor  myself  felt  any  scruple  in  doing  full  justice 
to  the  good  things  that  were  set  before  us.  If  the 
feast  were  less  magnificent  than  those  same  paneled 
walls  had  witnessed,  in  a  by-gone  century  —  if  mine 
host  presided  with  somewhat  less  of  state,  than  might 
have  befitted  a  successor  of  the  royal  Governors  —  if 
the  guests  made  a  less  imposing  show  than  the  be- 
wigged,  and  powdered,  and  embroidered  dignitaries, 
who  erst  banqueted  at  the  gubernatorial  table,  and  now 
sleep  within  their  armorial  tombs  on  Copp's  Hill,  or 
round  King's  Chapel  —  yet  never,  I  may  boldly  say, 
did  a  more  comfortable  little  party  assemble  in  the 
Province  House,  from  Queen  Anne's  days  to  the 
Revolution.  The  occasion  was  rendered  more  inter 
esting  by  the  presence  of  a  venerable  personage,  whose 
own  actual  reminiscences  went  back  to  the  epoch  of 
Gage  and  Howe,  and  even  supplied  him  with  a  doubtful 
anecdote  or  two  of  Hutchinson.  He  was  one  of  that 
small,  and  now  all  but  extinguished  class,  whose  attach 
ment  to  royalty,  and  to  the  colonial  institutions  and 
customs  that  were  connected  with  it,  had  never  yielded 
to  the  democratic  heresies  of  after-times.  The  young 
queen  of  Britain  has  not  a  more  loyal  subject  in  her 
realm  —  perhaps  not  one  who  would  kneel  before  her 
throne  with  such  reverential  love  —  as  this  old  grand- 
sire,  whose  head  has  whitened  beneath  the  mild  sway 
of  the  Republic,  which  still,  in  his  mellower  moments, 


44  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

he  terms  a  usurpation.  Yet  prejudices  so  obstinate 
have  not  made  him  an  ungentle  or  impracticable  com 
panion.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  life  of  the  aged 
loyalist  has  been  of  such  a  scrambling  and  unsettled 
character  —  he  has  had  so  little  choice  of  friends,  and 
been  so  often  destitute  of  any  —  that  I  doubt  whether 
he  would  refuse  a  cup  of  kindness  with  either  Oliver 
Cromwell  or  John  Hancock  ;  to  say  nothing  of  any 
democrat  now  upon  the  stage.  In  another  paper  of 
this  series,  I  may  perhaps  give  the  reader  a  closer 
glimpse  of  his  portrait. 

Our  host,  in  due  season,  uncorked  a  bottle  of  Ma 
deira,  of  such  exquisite  perfume  and  admirable  flavor, 
that  he  surely  must  have  discovered  it  in  an  ancient 
bin,  down  deep  beneath  the  deepest  cellar,  where  some 
jolly  old  butler  stored  away  the  Governor's  choicest 
wine,  and  forgot  to  reveal  the  secret  on  his  deathbed. 
Peace  to  his  red-nosed  ghost,  and  a  libation  to  his 
memory  !  This  precious  liquor  was  imbibed  by  Mr. 
Tiffany  with  peculiar  zest ;  and  after  sipping  the  third 
glass,  it  was  his  pleasure  to  give  us  one  of  the  oddest 
legends  which  he  had  yet  raked  from  the  storehouse, 
where  he  keeps  such  matters.  With  some  suitable 
adornments  from  my  own  fancy,  it  ran  pretty  much  as 
follows. 


Not  long  after  Colonel  Shute  had  assumed  t]ie  gov 
ernment  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  now  nearly  a  hundred 
and  twenty  years  ago,  a  young  lady  of  rank  and  fortune 
arrived  from  England,  to  claim  his  protection  as  her 
guardian.  He  was  her  distant  relative,  but  the  nearest 
who  had  survived  the  gradual  extinction  of  her  family  ; 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  45 

so  that  no  more  eligible  shelter  could  be  found  for  the 
rich  and  high-born  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe,  than 
within  the  Province  House  of  a  transatlantic  colony. 
The  consort  of  Governor  Shute,  moreover,  had  been 
as  a  mother  to  her  childhood,  and  was  now  anxious  to 
receive  her,  in  the  hope  that  a  beautiful  young  woman 
would  be  exposed  to  infinitely  less  peril  from  the 
primitive  society  of  New  England,  than  amid  the 
artifices  and  corruptions  of  a  court.  If  either  the 
Governor  or  his  lady  had  especially  consulted  their 
own  comfort,  they  would  probably  have  sought  to 
devolve  the  responsibility  on  other  hands  ;  since  with 
some  noble  and  splendid  traits  of  character,  Lady 
Eleanore  was  remarkable  for  a  harsh,  unyielding  pride, 
a  haughty  consciousness  of  her  hereditary  and  personal 
advantages,  which  made  her  almost  incapable  of  con 
trol.  Judging  from  many  traditionary  anecdotes,  this 
peculiar  temper  was  hardly  less  than  a  monomania  ; 
or,  if  the  acts  which  it  inspired  were  those  of  a  sane 
person,  it  seemed  due  from  Providence  that  pride  so 
sinful  should  be  followed  by  as  severe  a  retribution. 
That  tinge  of  the  marvellous,  which  is  thrown  over  so 
many  of  these  half-forgotten  legends,  has  probably 
imparted  an  additional  wildness  to  the  strange  story  of 
Lady  Eleanore  Rochclifie. 

The  ship  in  which  she  came  passenger  had  arrived 
at  Newport,  whence  Lady  Eleanore  was  conveyed  to 
Boston  in  the  Governor's  coach,  attended  by  a  small 
escort  of  gentlemen  on  horseback.  The  ponderous 
equipage,  with  its  four  black  horses,  attracted  much 
notice  as  it  rumbled  through  Cornhill,  surrounded  by 
the  prancing  steeds  of  half  a  dozen  cavaliers,  with 


46  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

swords  dangling  to  their  stirrups  and  pistols  at  their 
holsters.  Through  the  large  glass  windows  of  the 
coach,  as  it  rolled  along,  the  people  could  discern  the 
figure  of  Lady  Eleanore,  strangely  combining  an  al 
most  queenly  stateliness  with  the  grace  and  beauty  of  a 
maiden  in  her  teens.  A  singular  tale  had  gone  abroad 
among  the  ladies  of  the  province,  that  their  fair  rival 
was  indebted  for«  much  of  the  irresistible  charm  of  her 
appearance  to  a  certain  article  of  dress  —  an  embroid 
ered  mantle  —  which  had  been  wrought  by  the  most 
skilful  artist  in  London,  and  possessed  even  magical 
properties  of  adornment.  On  the  present  occasion, 
however,  she  owed  nothing  to  the  witchery  of  dress, 
being  clad  in  a  riding-habit  of  velvet,  which  would 
have  appeared  stiff  and  ungraceful  on  any  other  form. 

The  coachman  reined  in  his  four  black  steeds,  and 
the  whole  cavalcade  came  to  a  pause  in  front  of  the 
contorted  iron  balustrade  that  fenced  the  Province 
House  from  the  public  street.  It  was  an  awkward 
coincidence,  that  the  bell  of  the  Old  South  was  just 
then  tolling  for  a  funeral ;  so  that,  instead  of  a  glad 
some  peal  with  which  it  was  customary  to  announce 
the  arrival  of  distinguished  strangers,  Lady  Eleanore 
Rochcliffe  was  ushered  by  a  doleful  clang,  as  if  calam 
ity  had  come  embodied  in  her  beautiful  person. 

1  A  very  great  disrespect ! '  exclaimed  Captain  Lang- 
ford,  an  English  officer,  who  had  recently  brought 
dispatches  to  Governor  Shute.  '  The  funeral  should 
have  been  deferred,  lest  Lady  Eleanore's  spirits  be 
affected  by  such  a  dismal  welcome.' 

'  With  your  pardon,  sir,'  replied  Doctor  Clarke,  a 
physician,  and  a  famous  champion  of  the  popular  party, 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  47 

4  whatever  the  heralds  may  pretend,  a  dead  beggar 
must  have  precedence  of  a  living  queen.  King  Death 
confers  high  privileges.' 

These  remarks  were  interchanged  while  the  speakers 
waited  a  passage  through  the  crowd,  which  had  gather 
ed  on  each  side  of  the  gateway,  leaving  an  open 
avenue  to  the  portal  of  the  Province  House.  A  black 
slave  in  livery  now  leaped  from  behind  the  coach,  and 
threw  open  the  door ;  while  at  the  same  moment  Gov 
ernor  Shute  descended  the  flight  of  steps  from  his 
mansion,  to  assist  Lady  Eleanore  in  alighting.  But 
the  Governor's  stately  approach  was  anticipated  in  a 
manner  that  excited  general  astonishment.  A  pale 
young  man,  with  his  black  hair  all  in  disorder,  rushed 
from  the  throng,  and  prostrated  himself  beside  the 
coach,  thus  offering  his  person  as  a  footstool  for  Lady 
Eleanore  Rochcliffe  to  tread  upon.  She  held  back  an 
instant ;  yet  with  an  expression  as  if  doubting  whether 
the  young  man  were  worthy  to  bear  the  weight  of  her 
footstep,  rather  than  dissatisfied  to  receive  such  awful 
reverence  from  a  fellow-mortal. 

'  Up,  sir,'  said  the  Governor,  sternly,  at  the  same 
time  lifting  his  cane  over  the  intruder.  4  What  means 
the  Bedlamite  by  this  freak  ? ' 

4  Nay,'  answered  Lady  Eleanore  playfully,  but  with 
more  scorn  than  pity  in  her  tone,  '  your  Excellency 
shall  not  strike  him.  When  men  seek  only  to  be 
trampled  upon,  it  were  a  pity  to  deny  them  a  favor  so 
easily  granted  —  and  so  well  deserved  ! ' 

Then,  though  as  lightly  as  a  sunbeam  on  a  cloud, 
she  placed  her  foot  upon  the  cowering  form,  and  ex 
tended  her  hand  to  meet  that  of  the  Governor.  There 


48  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

was  a  brief  interval,  during  which  Lady  Eleanore 
retained  this  attitude  ;  and  never,  surely,  was  there  an 
apter  emblem  of  aristocracy  and  hereditary  pride, 
trampling  on  human  sympathies  and  the  kindred  of 
nature,  than  these  two  figures  presented  at  that  moment. 
Yet  the  spectators  were  so  smitten  with  her  beauty,  and 
so  essential  did  pride  seem  to  the  existence  of  such  a 
creature,  that  they  gave  a  simultaneous  acclamation  of 
applause. 

4  Who  is  this  insolent  young  fellow  ? '  inquired  Cap 
tain  Langford,  who  still  remained  beside  Doctor  Clarke. 
'  If  he  be  in  his  senses,  his  impertinence  demands  the 
bastinado.  If  mad,  Lady  Eleanore  should  be  secured 
from  further  inconvenience,  by  his  confinement.' 

'  His  name  is  Jervase  Helwyse,'  answered  the  Doc 
tor —  'a  youth  of  no  birth  or  fortune,  or  other  advan 
tages,  save  the  mind  and  soul  that  nature  gave  him  ; 
and  being  secretary  to  our  colonial  agent  in  London,  it 
was  his  misfortune  to  meet  this  Lady  Eleanore  Eoch- 
cliffe.  He  loved  her  —  and  her  scorn  has  driven  him 
mad.' 

4  He  was  mad  so  to  aspire,'  observed  the  English 
officer. 

4  It  may  be  so,'  said  Doctor  Clarke,  frowning  as  he 
spoke.  '  But  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  could  well  nigh  doubt 
the  justice  of  the  Heaven  above  us,  if  no  signal  humili 
ation  overtake  this  lady,  who  now  treads  so  haughtily 
into  yonder  mansion.  She  seeks  to  place  herself  above 
the  sympathies  of  our  common  nature,  which  envelopes 
all  human  souls.  See,  if  that  nature  do  not  assert  its 
claim  over  her  in  some  mode  that  shall  bring  her  level 
with  the  lowest ! ' 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  49 

'  Never  ! '  cried  Captain  Langford,  indignantly  — 
c  neither  in  life,  nor  when  they  lay  her  with  her  ances 
tors.' 

Not  many  days  afterwards  the  Governor  gave  a  ball 
in  honor  of  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe.  The  principal 
gentry  of  the  colony  received  invitations,  which  were 
distributed  to  their  residences,  far  and  near,  by  messen 
gers  on  horseback,  bearing  missives  sealed  with  all  the 
formality  of  official  dispatches.  In  obedience  to  the 
summons,  there  was  a  general  gathering  of  rank, 
wealth,  and  beauty  ;  and  the  wide  door  of  the  Province 
House  had  seldom  given  admittance  to  more  numerous 
and  honorable  guests  than  on  the  evening  of  Lady 
Eleanore's  ball.  Without  much  extravagance  of  eulogy, 
the  spectacle  might  even  be  termed  splendid ;  for, 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times,  the  ladies  shone 
in  rich  silks  and  satins,  outspread  over  wide-projecting 
hoops  ;  and  the  gentlemen  glittered  in  gold  embroidery, 
laid  unsparingly  upon  the  purple,  or  scarlet,  or  sky- 
blue  velvet,  which  was  the  material  of  their  coats  and 
waistcoats.  The  latter  article  of  dress  was  of  great 
importance,  since  it  enveloped  the  wearer's  body  nearly 
to  the  knees,  and  was  perhaps  bedizened  with  the 
amount  of  his  whole  year's  income,  in  golden  flowers 
and  foliage.  The  altered  taste  of  the  present  day  — 
a  taste  symbolic  of  a  deep  change  in  the  whole  system 
of  society  —  would  look  upon  almost  any  of  those  gor 
geous  figures  as  ridiculous  ;  although  that  evening  the 
guests  sought  their  reflections  in  the  pier-glasses,  and 
rejoiced  to  catch  their  own  glitter  amid  the  glittering 
crowd.  What  a  pity  that  one  of  the  stately  mirrors 
has  not  preserved  a  picture  of  the  scene,  which,  by 


50  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

the  very  traits  that  were  so  transitory,  might  have 
taught  us  much  that  would  be  worth  knowing  and 
remembering ! 

Would,  at  least,  that  either  painter  or  mirror  could 
convey  to  us  some  faint  idea  of  a  garment,  already 
noticed  in  this  legend  —  the  Lady  Eleanore's  embroid 
ered  mantle  —  which  the  gossips  whispered  was  in 
vested  with  magic  properties,  so  as  to  lend  a  new  and 
untried  grace  to  her  figure  each  time  that  she  put  it  on  ! 
Idle  fancy  as  it  is,  this  mysterious  mantle  has  thrown 
an  awe  around  my  image  of  her,  partly  from  its  fabled 
virtues,  and  partly  because  it  was  the  handiwork  of  a 
dying  woman,  and,  perchance,  owed  the  fantastic  grace 
of  its  conception  to  the  delirium  of  approaching  death. 

After  the  ceremonial  greetings  had  been  paid,  Lady 
Eleanore  Rochcliffe  stood  apart  from  the  mob  of 
guests,  insulating  herself  within  a  small  and  distin 
guished  circle,  to  whom  she  accorded  a  more  cordial 
favor  than  to  the  general  throng.  The  waxen  torches 
threw  their  radiance  vividly  over  the  scene,  bringing 
out  its  brilliant  points  in  strong  relief ;  but  she  gazed 
carelessly,  and  with  now  and  then  an  expression  of 
weariness  or  scorn,  tempered  with  such  feminine  grace, 
that  her  auditors  scarcely  perceived  the  moral  deformity 
of  which  it  was  the  utterance.  She  beheld  the  spec 
tacle  not  with  vulgar  ridicule,  as  disdaining  to  be 
pleased  with  the  provincial  mockery  of  a  court  festival, 
but  with  the  deeper  scorn  of  one  whose  spirit  held 
itself  too  high  to  participate  in  the  enjoyment  of  other 
human  souls.  Whether  or  no  the  recollections  of  those 
who  saw  her  that  evening  were  influenced  by  the  strange 
events  with  which  she  was  subsequently  connected,  so 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  51 

it  was,  that  her  frgure  ever  after  recurred  to  them  as 
marked  by  something  wild  and  unnatural;  although, 
at  the  time,  the  general  whisper  was  of  her  exceeding 
beauty,  and  of  the  indescribable  charm  which  her 
mantle  threw  around  her.  Some  close  observers,  in 
deed,  detected  a  feverish  flush  and  alternate  paleness 
of  countenance,  with  a  corresponding  flow  and  revul 
sion  of  spirits,  and  once  or  twice  a  painful  and  helpless 
betrayal  of  lassitude,  as  if  she  were  on  the  point  of 
sinking  to  the  ground.  Then,  with  a  nervous  shudder, 
she  seemed  to  arouse  her  energies,  and  threw  some 
bright  and  playful,  yet  half-wicked  sarcasm  into  the 
conversation.  There  was  so  strange  a  characteristic 
in  her  manners  and  sentiments,  that  it  astonished  eveiy 
right-minded  listener ;  till  looking  in  her  face,  a  lurking 
and  incomprehensible  glance  and  smile  perplexed  them 
with  doubts  both  as  to  her  seriousness  and  sanity.  Grad 
ually,  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe's  circle  grew  smaller, 
till  only  four  gentlemen  remained  in  it.  These  were 
Captain  Langford,  the  English  officer  before  mentioned ; 
a  Virginian  planter,  who  had  come  to  Massachusetts  on 
some  political  errand ;  a  young  Episcopal  clergyman, 
the  grandson  of  a  British  Earl ;  and  lastly,  the  private 
secretary  of  Governor  Shute,  whose  obsequiousness 
had  won  a  sort  of  tolerance  from  Lady  Eleanore. 

At  different  periods  of  the  evening  the  liveried 
servants  of  the  Province  House  passed  among  the 
guests,  bearing  huge  trays  of  refreshments,  and 
French  and  Spanish  wines.  Lady  Eleanore  Roch- 
cliffb,  who  refused  to  wet  her  beautiful  lips  even 
with  a  bubble  of  Champaigne,  had  sunk  back  into 
a  large  damask  chair,  apparently  overwearied  either 


52  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

with  the  excitement  of  the  scene  or  its  tedium ;  and 
while,  for  an  instant,  she  was  unconscious  of  voices, 
laughter,  and  music,  a  young  man  stole  forward,  and 
knelt  down  at  her  feet.  He  bore  a  salver  in  his  hand, 
on  which  was  a  chased  silver  goblet,  filled  to  the  brim 
with  wine,  which  he  offered  as  reverentially  as  to  a 
crowned  queen,  or  rather  with  the  awful  devotion  of 
a  priest  doing  sacrifice  to  his  idol.  Conscious  that 
some  one  touched  her  robe,  Lady  Eleanore  started, 
and  unclosed  her  eyes  upon  the  pale,  wild  features 
and  disheveled  hair  of  Jervase  Helwyse. 

4  Why  do  you  haunt  me  thus  ? '  said  she,  in  a  lan 
guid  tone,  but  with  a  kindlier  feeling  than  she  ordina 
rily  permitted  herself  to  express.  '  They  tell  me  that 
I  have  done  you  harm.' 

'  Heaven  knows  if  that  be  so,'  replied  the  young 
man  solemnly.  '  But,  Lady  Eleanore,  in  requital  of 
that  harm,  if  such  there  be,  and  for  your  own  earthly 
and  heavenly  welfare,  I  pray  you  to  take  one  sip  of 
this  holy  wine,  and  then  to  pass  the  goblet  round 
among  the  guests.  And  this  shall  be  a  symbol  that 
you  have  not  sought  to  withdraw  yourself  from  the 
chain  of  human  sympathies  —  which  whoso  would 
shake  off  must  keep  company  with  fallen  angels.' 

4  Where  has  this  mad  fellow  stolen  that  sacramental 
vessel  ? '  exclaimed  the  Episcopal  clergyman. 

This  question  drew  the  notice  of  the  guests  to  the 
silver  cup,  which  was  recognised  as  appertaining  to 
the  communion  plate  of  the  Old  South  Church ;  and, 
for  aught  that  could  be  known,  it  was  brimming  over 
with  the  consecrated  wine. 

1  Perhaps  it  is  poisoned,'  half  whispered  the  Gover 
nor's  secretary. 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  53 

4  Pour  it  down'  the  villain's  throat ! '  cried  the  Vir 
ginian,  fiercely. 

4  Turn  him  out  of  the  house  ! '  cried  Captain  Lang- 
ford,  seizing  Jervase  Helwyse  so  roughly  by  the  shoul 
der  that  the  sacramental  cup  was  overturned,  and  its 
contents  sprinkled  upon  Lady  Eleanore's  mantle. 
4  Whether  knave,  fool,  or  Bedlamite,  it  is  intolerable 
that  the  fellow  should  go  at  large.' 

4  Pray,  gentlemen,  do  my  poor  admirer  no  harm,' 
said  Lady  Eleanore,  with  a  faint  and  weary  smile. 
4  Take  him  out  of  my  sight,  if  such  be  your  pleasure  ; 
for  I  can  find  in  my  heart  to  do  nothing  but  laugh  at 
him  —  whereas,  in  all  decency  and  conscience,  it  would 
become  me  to  weep  for  the  mischief  I  have  wrought ! ' 

But  while  the  bystanders  were  attempting  to  lead 
away  the  unfortunate  young  man,  he  broke  from  them, 
and  with  a  wild,  impassioned  earnestness,  offered  a 
new  and  equally  strange  petition  to  Lady  Eleanore. 
It  was  no  other  than  that  she  should  throw  off  the 
mantle,  which,  while  he  pressed  the  silver  cup  of  wine 
upon  her,  she  had  drawn  more  closely  around  her 
form,  so  as  almost  to  shroud  herself  within  it. 

4  Cast  it  from  you ! '  exclaimed  Jervase  Helwyse, 
clasping  his  hands  in  an  agony  of  entreaty.  4  It  may 
not  yet  be  too  late  !  Give  the  accursed  garment  to 
the  flames  ! ' 

But  Lady  Eleanore,  with  a  laugh  of  scorn,  drew 
the  rich  folds  of  the  embroidered  mantle  over  her 
head,  in  such  a  fashion  as  to  give  a  completely  new 
aspect  to  her  beautiful  face,  which  —  half-hidden,  half- 
revealed —  seemed  to  belong  to  some  being  of  mys 
terious  character  and  purposes. 
VOL.  n.  4 


54  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

4  Farewell,  Jervase  Helwyse  ! '  said  she.  l  Keep  my 
image  in  your  remembrance,  as  you  behold  it  now.' 

'  Alas,  lady  ! '  he  replied,  in  a  tone  no  longer  wild, 
but  sad  as  a  funeral  bell.  '  We  must  meet  shortly, 
when  your  face  may  wear  another  aspect  —  and  that 
shall  be  the  image  that  must  abide  within  me.' 

He  made  no  more  resistance  to  the  violent  efforts 
of  the  gentlemen  and  servants,  who  almost  dragged 
him  out  of  the  apartment,  and  dismissed  him  roughly 
from  the  iron  gate  of  the  Province  House.  Captain 
Langford,  who  had  been  very  active  in  this  affair,  was 
returning  to  the  presence  of  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe, 
when  he  encountered  the  physician,  Doctor  Clarke, 
with  whom  he  had  held  some  casual  talk  on  the  day 
of  her  arrival.  The  Doctor  stood  apart,  separated 
from  Lady  Eleanore  by  the  width  of  the  room,  but 
eyeing  her  with  such  keen  sagacity,  that  Captain 
Langford  involuntarily  gave  him  credit  for  the  dis 
covery  of  some  deep  secret. 

'You  appear  to  be  smitten,  after  all,  with  the 
charms  of  this  queenly  maiden,'  said  he,  hoping  thus 
to  draw  forth  the  physician's  hidden  knowledge. 

4  God  forbid ! '  answered  Doctor  Clarke,  with  a 
grave  smile ;  '  and  if  you  be  wise  you  will  put  up 
the  same  prayer  for  yourself.  Wo  to  those  who  shall 
be  smitten  by  this  beautiful  Lady  Eleanore !  But 
yonder  stands  the  Governor  —  and  I  have  a  word 
or  two  for  his  private  ear.  Good  night ! ' 

He  accordingly  advanced  to  Governor  Shute,  and 
addressed  him  in  so  low  a  tone  that  none  of  the 
bystanders  could  catch  a  word  of  what  he  said  ; 
although  the  sudden  change  of  his  Excellency's  hith- 


55 

erto  cheerful  visage  betokened  that  the  communica 
tion  could  be  of  no  agreeable  import.  A  very  few 
moments  afterwards,  it  was  announced  to  the  guests 
that  an  unforeseen  circumstance  rendered  it  necessary 
to  put  a  premature  close  to  the  festival. 

The  ball  at  the  Province  House  supplied  a  topic  of 
conversation  for  the  colonial  metropolis,  for  some  days 
after  its  occurrence,  and  might  still  longer  have  been 
the  general  theme,  only  that  a  subject  of  all  en 
grossing  interest  thrust  it,  for  a  time,  from  the  public 
recollection.  This  was  the  appearance  of  a  dread 
ful  epidemic,  which,  in  that  age,  and  long  before 
and  afterwards,  was  wont  to  slay  its  hundreds  and 
thousands,  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  On  the 
occasion  of  which  we  speak,  it  was  distinguished  by  a 
peculiar  virulence,  insomuch  that  it  has  left  its  traces 
—  its  pitmarks,  to  use  an  appropriate  figure  —  on 
the  history  of  the  country,  the  affairs  of  which  were 
thrown  into  confusion  by  its  ravages.  At  first,  un 
like  its  ordinary  course,  the  disease  seemed  to  confine 
itself  to  the  higher  circles  of  society,  selecting  its 
victims  from  among  the  proud,  the  well-born  and  the 
wealthy,  entering  unabashed  into  stately  chambers, 
and  lying  down  with  the  slumberers  in  silken  beds. 
Some  of  the  most  distinguished  guests  of  the  Province 
House  —  even  those  whom  the  haughty  Lady  Eleanore 
Rochcliffe  had  deemed  not  unworthy  of  her  favor  — 
were  stricken  by  this  fatal  scourge.  It  was  noticed, 
with  an  ungenerous  bitterness  of  feeling,  that  the  four 
gentlemen  —  the  Virginian,  the  British  officer,  the 
young  clergyman,  and  the  Governor's  secretary  — 
who  had  been  her  most  devoted  attendants  on  the 


56  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

evening  of  the  ball,  were  the  foremost  on  whom 
the  plague-stroke  fell.  But  the  disease,  pursuing  its 
onward  progress,  soon  ceased  to  be  exclusively  a 
prerogative  of  aristocracy.  Its  red  brand  was  no 
longer  conferred  like  a  noble's  star,  or  an  order  of 
knighthood.  It  threaded  its  way  through  the  narrow 
and  crooked  streets,  and  entered  the  low,  mean,  dark 
some  dwellings,  and  laid  its  hand  of  death  upon  the 
artisans  and  laboring  classes  of  the  town.  It  com 
pelled  rich  and  poor  to  feel  themselves  brethren, 
then  ;  and  stalking  to  and  fro  across  the  Three  Hills, 
with  a  fierceness  which  made  it  almost  a  new  pesti 
lence,  there  was  that  mighty  conqueror  —  that  scourge 
and  horror  of  our  forefathers  —  the  Small  Pox  ! 

We  cannot  estimate  the  affright  which  this  plague 
inspired  of  yore,  by  contemplating  it  as  the  fangless 
monster  of  the  present  day.  We  must  remember, 
rather,  with  what  awe  we  watched  the  gigantic  foot 
steps  of  the  Asiatic  cholera,  striding  from  shore  to 
shore  of  the  Atlantic,  and  marching  like  destiny 
upon  cities  far  remote,  which  flight  had  already  half 
depopulated.  There  is  no  other  fear  so  horrible  and 
unhumanizing,  as  that  which  makes  man  dread  to 
breathe  Heaven's  vital  air,  lest  it  be  poison,  or  to 
grasp  the  hand  of  a  brother  or  friend,  lest  the  gripe 
of  the  pestilence  should  clutch  him.  Such  was  the 
dismay  that  now  followed  in  the  track  of  the  disease, 
or  ran  before  it  throughout  the  town.  Graves  were 
hastily  dug,  and  the  pestilential  relics,  as  hastily  cov 
ered,  because  the  dead  were  enemies  of  the  living, 
and  strove  to  draw  them  headlong,  as  it  were,  into 
their  own  dismal  pit.  The  public  councils  were  sus- 


57 

pended,  as  if  mortal  wisdom  might  relinquish  its 
devices,  now  that  an  unearthly  usurper  had  found  his 
way  into  the  ruler's  mansion.  Had  an  enemy's  fleet 
been  hovering  on  the  coast,  or  his  armies  trampling 
on  our  soil,  the  people  would  probably  have  committed 
their  defence  to  that  same  direful  conqueror,  who 
had  wrought  their  own  calamity,  and  would  permit 
no  interference  with  his  sway.  This  conqueror  had 
a  symbol  of  his  triumphs.  It  was  a  blood-red  flag, 
that  fluttered  in  the  tainted  air,  over  the  door  of  every 
dwelling  into  which  the  Small  Pox  had  entered. 

Such  a  banner  was  long  since  waving  over  the 
portal  of  the  Province  House ;  for  thence,  as  was 
proved  by  tracking  its  footsteps  back,  had  all  this 
dreadful  mischief  issued.  It  had  been  traced  back 
to  a  lady's  luxurious  chamber  —  to  the  proudest  of  the 
proud  —  to  her  that  was  so  delicate,  and  hardly  owned 
herself  of  earthly  mould  —  to  the  haughty  one,  who 
took  her  stand  above  human  sympathies  —  to  Lady 
Eleanore  !  There  remained  no  room  for  doubt,  that 
the  contagion  had  lurked  in  that  gorgeous  mantle, 
which  threw  so  strange  a  grace  around  her  at  the 
festival.  Its  fantastic  splendor  had  been  conceived  in 
the  delirious  brain  of  a  woman  on  her  death-bed,  and 
was  the  last  toil  of  her  stiffening  fingers,  which  had 
interwoven  fate  and  misery  with  its  golden  threads 
This  dark  tale,  whispered  at  first,  was  now  bruited 
far  and  wide.  The  people  raved  against  the  Lady 
Eleanore,  and  cried  out  that  her  pride  and  scorn  had 
evoked  a  fiend,  and  that,  between  them  both,  this 
monstrous  evil  had  been  born.  At  times,  their  rage 
and  despair  took  the  semblance  of  grinning  mirth ; 


58  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

and  whenever  the  red  flag  of  the  pestilence  was 
hoisted  over  another,  and  yet  another  door,  they 
clapt  their  hands  and  shouted  through  the  streets,  in 
bitter  mockery :  '  Behold  a  new  triumph  for  the  Lady 
Eleanore  ! ' 

One  day,  in  the  midst  of  these  dismal  times,  a  wild 
figure  approached  the  portal  of  the  Province  House, 
and  folding  his  arms,  stood  contemplating  the  scarlet 
banner,  which  a  passing  breeze  shook  fitfully,  as  if 
to  fling  abroad  the  contagion  that  it  typified.  At 
length,  climbing  one  of  the  pillars  by  means  of  the 
iron  balustrade,  he  took  down  the  flag,  and  entered 
the  mansion,  waving  it  above  his  head.  At  the  foot 
of  the  staircase  he  met  the  Governor,  booted  and 
spurred,  with  his  cloak  drawn  around  him,  evidently 
on  the  point  of  setting  forth  upon  a  journey. 

4  Wretched  lunatic,  what  do  you  seek  here  ? '  ex 
claimed  Shute,  extending  his  cane  to  guard  himself 
from  contact.  'There  is  nothing  here  but  Death. 
Back  —  or  you  will  meet  him  ! ' 

4  Death  will  not  touch  me,  the  banner-bearer  of  the 
pestilence  ! '  cried  Jervase  Helwyse,  shaking  the  red 
flag  aloft.  'Death,  and  the  Pestilence,  who  wears  the 
aspect  of  the  Lady  Eleanore,  will  walk  through  the 
streets  to-night,  and  I  must  march  before  them  with 
this  banner  ! ' 

4  Why  do  I  waste  words  on  the  fellow  ? '  muttered 
the  Governor,  drawing  his  cloak  across  his  mouth. 
4  What  matters  his  miserable  life,  when  none  of  us 
are  sure  of  twelve  hours'  breath  ?  On,  fool,  to  your 
own  destruction  ! ' 

He    made   way   for  Jervase    Helwyse,  who   imme- 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  59 

diatcly  ascended  -the  staircase,  but,  on  the  first  land 
ing-place,  was  arrested  by  the  firm  grasp  of  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulder.  Looking  fiercely  up,  with  a  mad 
man's  impulse  to  struggle  with,  and  rend  asunder  his 
opponent,  he  found  himself  powerless  beneath  a  calm, 
stern  eye,  which  possessed  the  mysterious  property 
of  quelling  frenzy  at  its  height.  The  person  whom 
he  had  now  encountered  was  the  physician,  Doctor 
Clarke,  the  duties  of  whose  sad  profession  had  led 
him  to  the  Province  House,  where  he  was  an  infre 
quent  guest  in  more  prosperous  times. 

4  Young  man,  what  is  your  purpose  ? '  demanded  he. 

4 1  seek  the  Lady  Eleanore,'  answered  Jervase  Hel- 
wyse,  submissively. 

4  All  have  fled  from  her,'  said  the  physician.  '  Why 
do  you  seek  her  now  ?  I  tell  you,  youth,  her  nurse 
fell  death-stricken  on  the  threshold  of  that  fatal  cham 
ber.  Know  ye  not,  that  never  came  such  a  curse  to 
our  shores  as  this  lovely  Lady  Eleanore  ? — that  her 
breath  has  filled  the  air  with  poison  ?  —  that  she  has 
shaken  pestilence  and  death  upon  the  land,  from  the 
folds  of  her  accursed  mantle  ? ' 

4  Let  me  look  upon  her ! '  rejoined  the  mad  youth, 
more  wildly.  '  Let  me  behold  her,  in  her  awful 
beauty,  clad  in  the  regal  garments  of  the  pestilence  ! 
She  and  Death  sit  on  a  throne  together.  Let  me  kneel 
down  before  them  ! ' 

4  Poor  youth ! '  said  Doctor  Clarke ;  and,  moved 
by  a  deep  sense  of  human  weakness,  a  smile  of 
caustic  humor  curled  his  lip  even  then.  '  Wilt  thou 
still  worship  the  destroyer,  and  surround  her  image 
with  fantasies  the  more  magnificent,  the  more  evil 


60  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

she  has  wrought  ?  Thus  man  doth  ever  to  his  tyrants ! 
Approach,  then !  Madness,  as  I  have  noted,  has  that 
good  efficacy,  that  it  will  guard  you  from  contagion 
—  and  perchance  its  own  cure  may  be  found  in  yonder 
chamber.' 

Ascending  another  flight  of  stairs,  he  threw  open  a 
door,  and  signed  to  Jervase  Helwyse  that  he  should 
enter.  The  poor  lunatic,  it  seems  probable,  had  cher 
ished  a  delusion  that  his  haughty  mistress  sat  in  state, 
unharmed  herself  by  the  pestilential  influence,  which, 
as  by  enchantment,  she  scattered  round  about  her. 
He  dreamed,  no  doubt,  that  her  beauty  was  not 
dimmed,  but  brightened  into  superhuman  splendor. 
With  such  anticipations,  he  stole  reverentially  to  the 
door  at  which  the  physician  stood,  but  paused  upon 
the  threshold,  gazing  fearfully  into  the  gloom  of  the 
darkened  chamber. 

'  Where  is  the  Lady  Eleanore  ? '  whispered  he. 

4  Call  her,'  replied  the  physician. 

4  Lady  Eleanore  !  — Princess  !  —  Queen  of  Death  ! ' 
cried  Jervase  Helwyse,  advancing  three  steps  into  the 
chamber.  '  She  is  not  here  !  There,  on  yonder  table, 
I  behold  the  sparkle  of  a  diamond  which  once  she 
wore  upon  her  bosom.  There'  —  and  he  shuddered 
—  'there  hangs  her  mantle,  on  which  a  dead  woman 
embroidered  a  spell  of  dreadful  potency.  But  where 
is  the  Lady  Eleanore  ? ' 

Something  stirred  within  the  silken  curtains  of  a 
canopied  bed ;  and  a  low  moan  was  uttered,  which, 
listening  intently,  Jervase  Helwyse  began  to  distin 
guish  as  a  woman's  voice,  complaining  dolefully  of 
thirst,  He  fancied,  even,  that  he  recognised  its  tones. 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  61 

4  My  throat !  —  my  throat  is  scorched,'  murmured 
the  voice.  '-A  drop  of  water  ! ' 

'  What  thing  art  thou  ? '  said  the  brain-stricken 
youth,  drawing  near  the  bed  and  tearing  asunder  its 
curtains.  '  Whose  voice  hast  thou  stolen  for  thy 
murmurs  and  miserable  petitions,  as  if  Lady  Eleanore 
could  be  conscious  of  mortal  infirmity  ?  Fie  !  Heap 
of  diseased  mortality,  why  lurkest  thou  in  my  lady's 
chamber  ?  ' 

4  Oh,  Jervase  Helwyse,'  said  the  voice  —  and  as  it 
spoke,  the  figure  contorted  itself,  struggling  to  hide 
its  blasted  face  — '  look  not  now  on  the  woman  you 
once  loved !  The  curse  of  Heaven  hath  stricken  me, 
because  I  would  not  call  man  my  brother,  nor  woman 
sister.  I  wrapt  myself  in  PRIDE  as  in  a  MANTLE,  and 
scorned  the  sympathies  of  nature  ;  and  therefore  has 
nature  made  this  wretched  body  the  medium  of  a 
dreadful  sympathy.  You  are  avenged  —  they  are  all 
avenged  —  Nature  is  avenged  —  for  I  am  Eleanore 
Rochcliffe  ! ' 

The  malice  of  his  mental  disease,  the  bitterness 
lurking  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  mad  as  he  was,  for 
a  blighted  and  ruined  life,  and  love  that  had  been  paid 
with  cruel  scorn,  awoke  within  the  breast  of  Jervase 
Helwyse.  He  shook  his  finger  at  the  wretched  girl, 
and  the  chamber  echoed,  the  curtains  of  the  bed  were 
shaken,  with  his  outburst  of  insane  merriment. 

4  Another  triumph  for  the  Lady  Eleanore  ! '  he  cried. 
'  All  have  been  her  victims !  Who  so  worthy  to  be 
the  final  victim  as  herself  ? ' 

Impelled  by  some  new  fantasy  of  his  crazed  intel 
lect,  he  snatched  the  fatal  mantle,  and  rushed  from 


62  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  chamber  and  the  house.  That  night,  a  procession 
passed,  by  torch-light,  through  the  streets,  bearing  in 
the  midst,  the  figure  of  a  woman,  enveloped  with  a 
richly  embroidered  mantle  ;  while  in  advance  stalked 
Jervase  Helwyse,  waving  the  red  flag  of  the  pesti 
lence.  Arriving  opposite  the  Province  House,  the 
mob  burned  the  efngy,  and  a  strong  wind  came  and 
swept  away  the  ashes.  It  was  said,  that,  from  that 
very  hour,  the  pestilence  abated,  as  if  its  sway  had 
some  mysterious  connection,  from  the  first  plague- 
stroke  to  the  last,  with  Lady  Eleanore's  Mantle.  A 
remarkable  uncertainty  broods  over  that  unhappy  lady's 
fate.  There  is  a  belief,  however,  that,  in  a  certain 
chamber  of  this  mansion,  a  female  form  may  some 
times  be  duskily  discerned,  shrinking  into  the  darkest 
corner,  and  muffling  her  face  within  an  embroidered 
mantle.  Supposing  the  legend  true,  can  this  be  other 
than  the  once  proud  Lady  Eleanore  ? 


Mine  host,  and  the  old  loyalist,  and  I,  bestowed  no 
little  warmth  of  applause  upon  this  narrative,  in  which 
we  had  all  been  deeply  interested  ;  for  the  reader  can 
scarcely  conceive  how  unspeakably  the  effect  of  such 
a  tale  is  heightened,  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  we 
may  repose  perfect  confidence  in  the  veracity  of  him 
who  tells  it.  For  my  own  part,  knowing  how  scrupu 
lous  is  Mr.  Tiffany  to  settle  the  foundation  of  his  facts, 
I  could  not  have  believed  him  one  whit  the  more  faith 
fully,  had  he  professed  himself  an  eye-witness  of  the 
doings  and  sufferings  of  poor  Lady  Eleanore.  Some 
skeptics,  it  is  true,  might  demand  documentary  evi- 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  63 

dence,  or  even  require  him  to  produce  the  embroidered 
mantle,  forgetting  that  —  Heaven  be  praised  —  it  was 
consumed  to  ashes.  But  now  the  old  loyalist,  whose 
blood  was  warmed  by  the  good  cheer,  began  to  talk, 
in  his  turn,  about  the  traditions  of  the  Province  House, 
and  hinted  that  he,  if  it  were  agreeable,  might  add  a 
few  reminiscences  to  our  legendary  stock.  Mr.  Tiffany, 
having  no  cause  to  dread  a  rival,  immediately  besought 
him  to  favor  us  with  a  specimen ;  my  own  entreaties, 
of  course,  were  urged  to  the  same  effect ;  and  our 
venerable  guest,  well  pleased  to  find  willing  auditors, 
awaited  only  the  return  of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite,  who 
had  been  summoned  forth  to  provide  accommoda 
tions  for  several  new  arrivals.  Perchance  the  public 
—  but  be  this  as  its  own  caprice  and  ours  shall  settle 
the  matter  —  may  read  the  result  in  another  Tale  of 
the  Province  House. 


LEGENDS    OF    THE    PROVINCE   HOUSE. 

IV. 
OLD    ESTHER   DUDLEY. 

OUR  host  having  resumed  the  chair,  he,  as  well  as 
Mr.  Tiffany  and  myself,  expressed  much  eagerness  to 
be  made  acquainted  with  the  story  to  which  the  loyalist 
had  alluded.  That  venerable  man  first  of  all  saw  fit 
to  moisten  his  throat  with  another  glass  of  wine,  and 
then,  turning  his  face  towards  our  coal  fire,  looked 
steadfastly  for  a  few  moments  into  the  depths  of  its 
cheerful  glow.  Finally,  he  poured  forth  a  great  fluency 
of  speech.  The  generous  liquid  that  he  had  imbibed, 
while  it  warmed  his  age-chilled  blood,  likewise  took  off 
the  chill  from  his  heart  and  mind,  and  gave  him  an 
energy  to  think  and  feel,  which  we  could  hardly  have 
expected  to  find  beneath  the  snows  of  fourscore  winters. 
His  feelings,  indeed,  appeared  to  me  more  excitable 
than  those  of  a  younger  man ;  or,  at  least,  the  same 
degree  of  feeling  manifested  itself  by  more  visible 
effects,  than  if  his  judgment  and  will  had  possessed 
the  potency  of  meridian  life.  At  the  pathetic  passages 
of  his  narrative,  he  readily  melted  into  tears.  When 
a  breath  of  indignation  swept  across  his  spirit,  the  blood 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  65 

flushed  his  withered  visage  even  to  the  roots  of  his 
white  hair ;  and  he  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  the  trio 
of  peaceful  auditors,  seeming  to  fancy  enemies  in  those 
who  felt  very  kindly  towards  the  desolate  old  soul.  But 
ever  and  anon,  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  his  most 
earnest  talk,  this  ancient  person's  intellect  would  wan 
der  vaguely,  losing  its  hold  of  the  matter  in  hand,  and 
groping  for  it  amid  misty  shadows.  Then  would  he 
cackle  forth  a  feeble  laugh,  and  express  a  doubt  whether 
his  wits  —  for  by  that  phrase  it  pleased  our  ancient 
friend  to  signify  his  mental  powers  —  were  not  getting 
a  little  the  worse  for  wear. 

Under  these  disadvantages,  the  old  loyalist's  story 
required  more  revision  to  render  it  fit  for  the  public 
eye,  than  those  of  the  series  which  have  preceded  it ; 
nor  should  it  be  concealed,  that  the  sentiment  and  tone 
of  the  affair  may  have  undergone  some  slight,  or  per 
chance  more  than  slight  metamorphosis,  in  its  transmis 
sion  to  the  reader  through  the  medium  of  a  thorough 
going  democrat.  The  tale  itself  is  a  mere  sketch,  with 
no  involution  of  plot,  nor  any  great  interest  of  events, 
yet  possessing,  if  I  have  rehearsed  it  aright,  that  pen 
sive  influence  over  the  mind,  which  the  shadow  of  the 
old  Province  House  flings  upon  the  loiterer  in  its  court 
yard. 

The  hour  had  come  —  the  hour  of  defeat  and  hu 
miliation  —  when  Sir  William  Howe  was  to  pass  over 
the  threshold  of  the  Province  House",  and  embark,  with 
no  such  triumphal  ceremonies  as  he  once  promised 
himself,  on  board  the  British  fleet.  He  bade  his  servants 
and  military  attendants  go  before  him,  and  lingered  a 


66  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

moment  in  the  loneliness  of  the  mansion,  to  quell  the 
fierce  emotions  that  struggled  in  his  bosom  as  with  a 
death-throb.  Preferable,  then,  would  he  have  deemed 
his  fate,  had  a  warrior's  death  left  him  a  claim  to  the 
narrow  territory  of  a  grave,  within  the  soil  which  the 
King  had  given  him  to  defend.  With  an  ominous  per 
ception  that,  as  his  departing  footsteps  echoed  adown 
the  staircase,  the  sway  of  Britain  was  passing  forever 
from  New  England,  he  smote  his  clenched  hand  on  his 
brow,  and  cursed  the  destiny  that  had  flung  the  shame 
of  a  dismembered  empire  upon  him. 

4  Would  to  God,'  cried  he,  hardly  repressing  his  tears 
of  rage,  4  that  the  rebels  were  even  now  at  the  door-step ! 
A  blood-stain  upon  the  floor  should  then  bear  testimony 
that  the  last  British  ruler  was  faithful  to  his  trust.' 

The  tremulous  voice  of  a  woman  replied  to  his 
exclamation. 

4  Heaven's  cause  and  the  King's  are  one,'  it  said. 
1  Go  forth,  Sir  William  Howe,  and  trust  in  Heaven  to 
bring  back  a  Royal  Governor  in  triumph.' 

Subduing  at  once  the  passion  to  which  he  had  yielded 
only  in  the  faith  that  it  was  unwitnessed,  Sir  William 
Howe  became  conscious  that  an  aged  woman,  leaning 
on  a  gold-headed  staff,  was  standing  betwixt  him  and 
the  door.  It  was  old  Esther  Dudley,  who  had  dwelt 
almost  immemorial  years  in  this  mansion,  until  her 
presence  seemed  as  inseparable  from  it  as  the  recol 
lections  of  its  history.  She  was  the  daughter  of  an 
ancient  and  once  eminent  family,  which  had  fallen 
into  poverty  and  decay,  and  left  its  last  descendant  no 
resource  save  the  bounty  of  the  King,  nor  any  shelter 
except  within  the  walls  of  the  Province  House.  An 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  67 

office  in  the  household,  with  merely  nominal  duties, 
had  been  assigned  to  her  as  a  pretext  for  the  payment 
of  a  small  pension,  the  greater  part  of  which  she 
expended  in  adorning  herself  with  an  antique  magnifi 
cence  of  attire.  The  claims  of  Esther  Dudley's  gentle 
blood  were  acknowledged  by  all  the  successive  Gov 
ernors  ;  and  they  treated  her  with  the  punctilious  cour 
tesy  which  it  was  her  foible  to  demand,  not  always 
with  success,  from  a  neglectful  world.  The  only  actual 
share  which  she  assumed  in  the  business  of  the  man 
sion,  was  to  glide  through  its  passages  and  public  cham 
bers,  late  at  night,  to  see  that  the  servants  had  dropped 
no  fire  from  their  flaring  torches,  nor  left  embers  crack 
ling  and  blazing  on  the  hearths.  Perhaps  it  was  this 
invariable  custom  of  walking  her  rounds  in  the  hush  of 
midnight,  that  caused  the  superstition  of  the  times  to 
invest  the  old  woman  with  attributes  of  awe  and  mys 
tery  ;  fabling  that  she  had  entered  the  portal  of  the 
Province  House,  none  knew  whence,  in  the  train  of  the 
first  Royal  Governor,  and  that  it  was  her  fate  to  dwell 
there  till  the  last  should  have  departed.  But  Sir  William 
Howe,  if  he  ever  heard  this  legend,  had  forgotten  it. 

4  Mistress  Dudley,  why  are  you  loitering  here  ? ' 
asked  he,  with  some  severity  of  tone.  'It  is  my 
pleasure  to  be  the  last  in  this  mansion  of  the  King.' 

1  Not  so,  if  it  please  your  Excellency,'  answered  the 
time-stricken  woman.  '  This  roof  has  sheltered  me  long. 
I  will  not  pass  from  it  until  they  bear  me  to  the  tomb 
of  my  forefathers.  What  other  shelter  is  there  for 
old  Esther  Dudley,  save  the  Province  House  or  the 
grave  ? ' 

'  Now  Heaven  forgive  me  ! '  said  Sir  William  Howe 


68  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

to  himself.  '  I  was  about  to  leave  this  wretched  old 
creature  to  starve  or  beg.  Take  this,  good  Mistress 
Dudley,'  he  added,  putting  a  purse  into  her  hands. 
4  King  George's  head  on  these  golden  guineas  is  sterling 
yet,  and  will  continue  so,  I  warrant  you,  even  should 
the  rebels  crown  John  Hancock  their  king.  That  purse 
will  buy  a  better  shelter  than  the  Province  House  can 
now  afford.' 

4  While  the  burthen  of  life  remains  upon  me,  I  will 
have  no  other  shelter  than  this  roof,'  persisted  Esther 
Dudley,  striking  her  staff  upon  the  floor,  with  a  gesture 
that  expressed  immovable  resolve.  'And  when  your 
Excellency  returns  in  triumph,  I  will  totter  into  the 
porch  to  welcome  you.' 

1  My  poor  old  friend  ! '  answered  the  British  General, 
—  and  all  his  manly  and  martial  pride  could  no  longer 
restrain  a  gush  of  bitter  tears.  4  This  is  an  evil  hour 
for  you  and  me.  The  province  which  the  King  intrusted 
to  my  charge  is  lost.  I  go  hence  in  misfortune  —  per 
chance  in  disgrace  —  to  return  no  more.  And  you, 
whose  present  being  is  incorporated  with  the  past  — 
who  have  seen  Governor  after  Governor,  in  stately 
pageantry,  ascend  these  steps  —  whose  whole  life  has 
been  an  observance  of  majestic  ceremonies,  and  a  wor 
ship  of  the  King  —  how  will  you  endure  the  change  : 
Come  with  us !  Bid  farewell  to  a  land  that  has  shaken 
off  its  allegiance,  and  live  still  under  a  Royal  govern 
ment,  at  Halifax.' 

4  Never,  never ! '  said  the  pertinacious  old  dame. 
4  Here  will  I  abide  ;  and  King  George  shall  still  have 
one  true  subject  in  his  disloyal  province.' 

4  Beshrcw  the  old  fool ! '  muttered  Sir  William  Howe, 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  69 

growing  impatient  of  her  obstinacy,  and  ashamed  of 
the  emotion  into  which  he  had  been  betrayed.  4  She 
is  the  very  moral  of  old-fashioned  prejudice,  and  could 
exist  nowhere  but  in  this  musty  edifice.  Well,  then, 
Mistress  Dudley,  since  you  will  needs  tarry,  I  give  the 
Province  House  in  charge  to  you.  Take  this  key,  and 
keep  it  safe  until  myself,  or  some  other  Royal  Gov 
ernor,  shall  demand  it  of  you.' 

Smiling  bitterly  at  himself  and  her,  he  took  the  heavy 
key  of  the  Province  House,  and  delivering  it  into  the 
old  lady's  hands,  drew  his  cloak  around  him  for  depart 
ure.  As  the  General  glanced  back  at  Esther  Dudley's 
antique  figure,  he  deemed  her  well  fitted  for  such  a 
charge,  as  being  so  perfect  a  representative  of  the  de 
cayed  past — of  an  age  gone  by,  with  its  manners, 
opinions,  faith,  and  feelings,  all  fallen  into  oblivion  or 
scorn  —  of  what  had  once  been  a  reality,  but  was  now 
merely  a  vision  of  faded  magnificence.  Then  Sir  Wil 
liam  Howe  strode  forth,  smiting  his  clenched  hands  to 
gether,  in  the  fierce  anguish  of  his  spirit ;  and  old  Esther 
Dudley  was  left  to  keep  watch  in  the  lonely  Province 
House,  dwelling  there  with  memory  ;  and  if  Hope  ever 
seemed  to  flit  around  her,  still  it  was  Memory  in  disguise. 

The  total  change  of  affairs  that  ensued  on  the  depart 
ure  of  the  British  troops  did  not  drive  the  venerable 
lady  from  her  strong-hold.  There  was  not,  for  many 
years  afterwards,  a  Governor  of  Massachusetts ;  and 
the  magistrates,  who  had  charge  of  such  matters,  saw 
no  objection  to  Esther  Dudley's  residence  in  the  Prov 
ince  House,  especially  as  they  must  otherwise  have  paid 
a  hireling  for  taking  care  of  the  premises,  which  with 
her  was  a  labor  of  love.  And  so  they  left  her  the  un- 

VOL.    II.  5 


70  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

disturbed  mistress  of  the  old  historic  edifice.  Many 
and  strange  were  the  fables  which  the  gossips  whispered 
about  her,  in  all  the  chimney-corners  of  the  town. 
Among  the  time-worn  articles  of  furniture  that  had  been 
left  in  the  mansion,  there  was  a  tall,  antique  mirror, 
which  was  well  worthy  of  a  tale  by  itself,  and  perhaps 
may  hereafter  be  the  theme  of  one.  The  gold  of  its 
heavily  wrought  frame  was  tarnished,  and  its  surface 
so  blurred,  that  the  old  woman's  figure,  whenever  she 
paused  before  it,  looked  indistinct  and  ghost-like.  But 
it  was  the  general  belief  that  Esther  could  cause  the 
Governors  of  the  overthrown  dynasty,  with  the  beautiful 
ladies  who  had  once  adorned  their  festivals,  the  Indian 
chiefs  who  had  come  up  to  the  Province  House  to  hold 
council  or  swear  allegiance,  the  grim  Provincial  war 
riors,  the  severe  clergymen  —  in  short,  all  the  pageantry 
of  gone  days  —  all  the  figures  that  ever  swept  across 
the  broad  plate  of  glass  in  former  times  —  she  could 
cause  the  whole  to  re-appear,  and  people  the  inner  world 
of  the  mirror  with  shadows  of  old  life.  Such  legends 
as  these,  together  with  the  singularity  of  her  isolated 
existence,  her  age,  and  the  infirmity  that  each  added 
winter  flung  upon  her,  made  Mistress  Dudley  the  object 
both  of  fear  and  pity ;  and  it  was  partly  the  result  of 
either  sentiment,  that,  amid  all  the  angry  license  of  the 
times,  neither  wrong  nor  insult  ever  fell  upon  her  un 
protected  head.  Indeed,  there  was  so  much  haughti 
ness  in  her  demeanor  towards  intruders,  among  whom 
she  reckoned  all  persons  acting  under  the  new  authori 
ties,  that  it  was  really  an  affair  of  no  small  nerve  to 
look  her  in  the  face.  And  to  do  the  people  justice, 
stern  republicans  as  they  had  now  become,  they  were 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  71 

well  content  that  the  old  gentlewoman,  in  her  hoop- 
petticoat  and  faded  embroidery,  should  still  haunt  the 
palace  of  ruined  pride  and  overthrown  power,  the  sym 
bol  of  a  departed  system,  embodying  a  history  in  her 
person.  So  Esther  Dudley  dwelt,  year  after  year,  in 
the  Province  House,  still  reverencing  all  that  others  had 
flung  aside,  still  faithful  to  her  King,  who,  so  long  as 
the  venerable  dame  yet  held  her  post,  might  be  said  to 
retain  one  true  subject  in  New  England,  and  one  spot 
of  the  empire  that  had  been  wrested  from  him. 

And  did  she  dwell  there  in  utter  loneliness  ?  Rumor 
said,  not  so.  Whenever  her  chill  and  withered  heart 
desired  warmth,  she  was  wont  to  summon  a  black  slave 
of  Governor  Shirley's  from  the  blurred  mirror,  and 
send  him  in  search  of  guests  who  had  long  ago  been 
familiar  in  those  deserted  chambers.  Forth  went  the 
sable  messenger,  with  the  starlight  or  the  moonshine 
gleaming  through  him,  and  did  his  errand  in  the  burial- 
ground,  knocking  at  the  iron  doors  of  tombs,  or  upon 
the  marble  slabs  that  covered  them,  and  whispering  to 
those  within :  '  My  mistress,  old  Esther  Dudley,  bids 
you  to  the  Province  House  at  midnight.'  And  punc 
tually  as  the  clock  of  the  Old  South  told  twelve,  came 
the  shadows  of  the  Olivers,  the  Hutchinsons,  the  Dud 
leys,  all  the  grandees  of  a  bygone  generation,  gliding 
beneath  the  portal  into  the  well  known  mansion,  where 
Esther  mingled  with  them  as  if  she  likewise  were  a 
shade.  Without  vouching  for  the  truth  of  such  tradi 
tions,  it  is  certain  that  Mistress  Dudley  sometimes  assem 
bled  a  few  of  the  stanch,  though  crest-fallen  old  tories, 
who  had  lingered  in  the  rebel  town  during  those  days 
of  wrath  and  tribulation.  Out  of  a  cobwebbed  bottle, 


72  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

containing  liquor  that  a  Royal  Governor  might  have 
smacked  his  lips  over,  they  quaffed  healths  to  the  King, 
and  babbled  treason  to  the  Republic,  feeling  as  if  the 
protecting  shadow  of  the  throne  were  still  flung  around 
them.  But,  draining  the  last  drops  of  their  liquor,  they 
stole  timorously  homeward,  and  answered  not  again,  if 
the  rude  mob  reviled  them  in  the  street. 

Yet  Esther  Dudley's  most  frequent  and  favored 
guests  were  the  children  of  the  town.  Towards  them 
she  was  never  stern.  A  kindly  and  loving  nature,  hin 
dered  elsewhere  from  its  free  course  by  a  thousand 
rocky  prejudices,  lavished  itself  upon  these  little  ones. 
By  bribes  of  gingerbread  of  her  own  making,  stamped 
with  a  royal  crown,  she  tempted  their  sunny  sportive- 
ness  beneath  the  gloomy  portal  of  the  Province  House, 
and  would  often  beguile  them  to  spend  a  whole  play- 
day  there,  sitting  in  a  circle  round  the  verge  of  her 
hoop-petticoat,  greedily  attentive  to  her  stories  of  a 
dead  world.  And  when  these  little  boys  and  girls  stole 
forth  again  from  the  dark  mysterious  mansion,  they 
went  bewildered,  full  of  old  feelings  that  graver  people 
had  long  ago  forgotten,  rubbing  their  eyes  at  the  world 
around  them  as  if  they  had  gone  astray  into  ancient 
times,  and  become  children  of  the  past.  At  home, 
when  their  parents  asked  where  they  had  loitered  such 
a  weary  while,  and  with  whom  they  had  been  at  play, 
the  children  would  talk  of  all  the  departed  worthies  of 
the  Province,  as  far  "back  as  Governor  Belcher,  and  the 
haughty  dame  of  Sir  William  Phipps.  It  would  seem 
as  though  they  had  been  sitting  on  the  knees  of  these 
famous  personages,  whom  the  grave  had  hidden  for  half 
a  century,  and  had  toyed  with  the  embroidery  of  their 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  73 

rich  waistcoats,  or  roguishly  pulled  the  long  curls  of 
their  flowing  wigs.  c  But  Governor  Belcher  has  been 
dead  this  many  a  year,'  would  the  mother  say  to  her 
little  boy.  4  And  did  you  really  see  him  at  the  Prov 
ince  House  ?  '  c  Oh,  yes,  dear  mother !  yes  ! '  the  half 
dreaming  child  would  answer.  '  But  when  old  Esther 
had  done  speaking  about  him  he  faded  away  out  of  his 
chair.'  Thus,  without  affrighting  her  little  guests,  she 
led  them  by  the  hand  into  the  chambers  of  her  own 
desolate  heart,  and  made  childhood's  fancy  discern  the 
ghosts  that  haunted  there. 

Living  so  continually  in  her  own  circle  of  ideas,  and 
never  regulating  her  mind  by  a  proper  reference  to 
present  things,  Esther  Dudley  appears  to  have  grown 
partially  crazed.  It  was  found  that  she  had  no  right 
sense  of  the  progress  and  true  state  of  the  Revolutionary 
war,  but  held  a  constant  faith  that  the  armies  of  Britain 
were  victorious  on  every  field,  and  destined  to  be  ulti 
mately  triumphant.  Whenever  the  town  rejoiced  for  a 
battle  won  by  Washington,  or  Gates,  or  Morgan,  or 
Greene,  the  news,  in  passing  through  the  door  of  the 
Province  House,  as  through  the  ivory  gate  of  dreams, 
became  metamorphosed  into  a  strange  tale'  of  the 
prowess  of  Howe,  Clinton,  or  Cornwallis.  Sooner  or 
later,  it  was  her  invincible  belief,  the  colonies  would  be 
prostrate  at  the  footstool  of  the  King.  Sometimes  she 
seemed  to  take  for  granted  that  such  was  already  the 
case.  On  one  occasion,  she  startled  the  town's  people 
by  a  brilliant  illumination  of  the  Province  House,  with 
candles  at  every  pane  of  glass,  and  a  transparency  of 
the  King's  initials  and  a  crown  of  light,  in  the  great 
balcony  window.  The  figure  of  the  aged  woman,  in 


74  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

the  most  gorgeous  of  her  mildewed  velvets  and  bro 
cades,  was  seen  passing  from  casement  to  casement, 
until  she  paused  before  the  balcony,  and  flourished  a 
huge  key  above  her  head.  Her  wrinkled  visage  ac 
tually  gleamed  with  triumph,  as  if  the  soul  within  her 
were  a  festal  lamp. 

'  What  means  this  blaze  of  light  ?  What  does  old 
Esther's  joy  portend  ? '  whispered  a  spectator.  '  It  is 
frightful  to  see  her  gliding  about  the  chambers,  and  re 
joicing  there  without  a  soul  to  bear  her  company.' 

'  It  is  as  if  she  were  making  merry  in  a  tomb,'  said 
another. 

'  Pshaw  !  It  is  no  such  mystery,'  observed  an  old  man, 
after  some  brief  exercise  of  memory.  '  Mistress  Dudley 
is  keeping  jubilee  for  the  King  of  England's  birthday.' 

Then  the  people  laughed  aloud,  and  would  have 
thrown  mud  against  the  blazing  transparency  of  the 
King's  crown  and  initials,  only  that  they  pitied  the  poor 
old  dame,  who  was  so  dismally  triumphant  amid  the 
wreck  and  ruin  of  the  system  to  which  she  appertained. 

Oftentimes  it  was  her  custom  to  climb  the  weary 
staircase  that  wound  upward  to  the  cupola,  and  thence 
strain  her  dimmed  eyesight  seaward  and  countryward, 
watching  for  a  British  fleet,  or  for  the  march  of  a  grand 
procession,  with  the  King's  banner  floating  over  it.  The 
passengers  in  the  street  below  would  discern  her  anxious 
visage,  and  send  up  a  shout — 'When  the  golden  Indian 
on  the  Province  House  shall  shoot  his  arrow,  and  when 
the  cock  on  the  Old  South  spire  shall  crow,  then  look 
for  a  Royal  Governor  again  ! '  —  for  this  had  grown  a 
by-word  through  the  town.  And  at  last,  after  long, 
long  years,  old  Esther  Dudley  knew,  or  perchance  she 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  75 

only  dreamed,  that  a  Royal  Governor  was  on  the  eve 
of  returning  to  the  Province  House,  to  receive  the 
heavy  key  which  Sir  William  Howe  had  committed  to 
her  charge.  Now  it  was  the  fact,  that  intelligence 
bearing  some  faint  analogy  to  Esther's  version  of  it, 
was  current  among  the  town's  people.  She  set  the 
mansion  in  the  best  order  that  her  means  allowed,  and 
arraying  herself  in  silks  and  tarnished  gold,  stood  long 
before  the  blurred  mirror  to  admire  her  own  magnifi 
cence.  As  she  gazed,  the  gray  and  withered  lady 
moved  her  ashen  lips,  murmuring  half  aloud,  talking  to 
shapes  that  she  saw  within  the  mirror,  to  shadows  of 
her  own  fantasies,  to  the  household  friends  of  memory, 
and  bidding  them  rejoice  with  her,  and  come  forth  to 
meet  the  Governor.  And  while  absorbed  in  this  com 
munion,  Mistress  Dudley  heard  the  tramp  of  many  foot 
steps  in  the  street,  and  looking  out  at  the  window,  beheld 
what  she  construed  as  the  Royal  Governor's  arrival. 

4  Oh,  happy  day !  oh,  blessed,  blessed  hour ! '  she 
exclaimed.  c  Let' me  but  bid  him  welcome  within  the 
portal,  and  my  task  in  the  Province  House,  and  on 
earth,  is  done  ! ' 

Then  with  tottering  feet,  which  age  and  tremulous 
joy  caused  to  tread  amiss,  she  hurried  down  the  grand 
staircase,  her  silks  sweeping  and  rustling  as  she  went, 
so  that  the  sound  was  as  if  a  train  of  spectral  courtiers 
were  thronging  from  the  dim  mirror.  And  Esther 
Dudley  fancied,  that  as  soon  as  the  wide  door  should 
be  flung  open,  all  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  by-gone 
times  would  pace  majestically  into  the  Province  House, 
and  the  gilded  tapestry  of  the  past  would  be  brightened 
by  the  sunshine  of  the  present.  She  turned  the  key  — 


76  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

withdrew  it  from  the  lock  —  unclosed  the  door  —  and 
stept  across  the  threshold.  Advancing  up  the  court 
yard,  appeared  a  person  of  most  dignified  mien,  with 
tokens,  as  Esther  interpreted  them,  of  gentle  blood, 
high  rank,  and  long  accustomed  authority,  even  in  his 
walk  and  every  gesture.  He  was  richly  dressed,  but 
wore  a  gouty  shoe,  which,  however,  did  not  lessen  the 
stateliness  of  his  gait.  Around  and  behind  him  were 
people  in  plain  civic  dresses,  and  two  or  three  war 
worn  veterans,  evidently  officers  of  rank,  arrayed  in  a 
uniform  of  blue  and  buff.  But  Esther  Dudley,  firm  in 
the  belief  that  had  fastened  its  roots  about  her  heart, 
beheld  only  the  principal  personage,  and  never  doubted 
that  this  was  the  long  looked-for  Governor,  to  whom 
she  was  to  surrender  up  her  charge.  As  he  approach 
ed,  she  involuntarily  sank  down  on  her  knees,  and 
tremblingly  held  forth  the  heavy  key. 

4  Receive  my  trust !  take  it  quickly  ! '  cried  she  ;  4  for 
methinks  Death  is  striving  to  snatch  away  my  triumph. 
But  he  comes  too  late.  Thank  Heaven  for  this  blessed 
hour  !  God  save  King  George  ! ' 

4  That,  Madam,  is  a  strange  prayer  to  be  offered  up 
at  such  a  moment,'  replied  the  unknown  guest  of  the 
Province  House,  and  courteously  removing  his  hat,  he 
offered  his  arm  to  raise  the  aged  woman.  '  Yet,  in 
reverence  for  your  gray  hairs  and  long-kept  faith, 
Heaven  forbid  that  any  here  should  say  you  nay.  Over 
the  realms  which  still  acknowledge  his  sceptre,  God 
save  King  George  ! ' 

Esther  Dudley  started  to  her  feet,  and  hastily  clutch 
ing  back  the  key,  gazed  with  fearful  earnestness  at  the 
stranger ;  and  dimly  and  doubtfully,  as  if  suddenly 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  77 

awakened  from  'a  dream,  her  bewildered  eyes  half 
recognised  his  face.  Years  ago,  she  had  known  him 
among  the  gentry  of  the  province.  But  the  ban  of  the 
King  had  fallen  upon  him !  How,  then,  came  the 
doomed  victim  here  ?  Proscribed,  excluded  from  mercy, 
the  monarch's  most  dreaded  and  hated  foe,  this  New 
England  merchant  had  stood  triumphantly  against  a 
kingdom's  strength ;  and  his  foot  now  trode  upon 
humbled  Royalty,  as  he  ascended  the  steps  of  the 
Province  House,  the  people's  chosen  Governor  of 
Massachusetts. 

1  Wretch,  wretch  that  I  am ! '  muttered  the  old  wo 
man,  with  such  a  heart-broken  expression,  that  the  tears 
gushed  from  the  stranger's  eyes.  4  Have  I  bidden  a 
traitor  welcome  ?  Come,  Death  !  come  quickly  ! ' 

'  Alas,  venerable  lady  ! '  said  Governor  Hancock, 
lending  her  his  support  with  all  the  reverence  that  a 
courtier  would  have  shown  to  a  queen.  '  Your  life  has 
been  prolonged  until  the  world  has  changed  around 
you.  You  have  treasured  up  all  that  time  has  rendered 
worthless  —  the  principles,  feelings,  manners,  modes  of 
being  and  acting,  which  another  generation  has  flung 
aside  —  and  you  are  a  symbol  of  the  past.  And  I,  and 
these  around  me  —  we  represent  a  new  race  of  men  — 
living  no  longer  in  the  past,  scarcely  in  the  present  — 
but  projecting  our  lives  forward  into  the  future.  Ceasing 
to  model  ourselves  on  ancestral  superstitions,  it  is  our 
faith  and  principle  to  press  onward,  onward !  Yet,' 
continued  he,  turning  to  his  attendants,  '  let  us  rever 
ence,  for  the  last  time,  the  stately  and  gorgeous  preju 
dices  of  the  tottering  Past ! ' 

While  the  Republican  Governor  spoke,  he  had  con- 


78  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

tinued  to  support  the  helpless  form  of  Esther  Dudley  ; 
her  weight  grew  heavier  against  his  arm ;  but  at  last, 
with  a  sudden  effort  to  free  herself,  the  ancient  woman 
sank  down  beside  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  portal.  The 
key  of  the  Province  House  fell  from  her  grasp,  and 
clanked  against  the  stone. 

'  I  have  been  faithful  unto  death,'  murmured  she. 
4  God  save  the  King  ! ' 

4  She  hath  done  her  office  ! '  said  Hancock,  solemnly. 
4  We  will  follow  her  reverently  to  the  tomb  of  her 
ancestors  ;  and  then,  my  fellow-citizens,  onward  — 
onward  !  We  are  no  longer  children  of  the  Past ! ' 


As  the  old  loyalist  concluded  his  narrative,  the  en 
thusiasm  which  had  been  fitfully  flashing  within  his 
sunken  eyes,  and  quivering  across  his  wrinkled  visage, 
faded  away,  as  if  all  the  lingering  fire  of  his  soul  were 
extinguished.  Just  then,  too,  a  lamp  upon  the  mantel 
piece  threw  out  a  dying  gleam,  which  vanished  as 
speedily  as  it  shot  upward,  compelling  our  eyes  to 
grope  for  one  another's  features  by  the  dim  glow  of 
the  hearth.  With  such  a  lingering  fire,  methought, 
with  such  a  dying  gleam,  had  the  glory  of  the  ancient 
system  vanished  from  the  Province  House,  when  the 
spirit  of  old  Esther  Dudley  took  its  flight.  And  now, 
again,  the  clock  of  the  Old  South  threw  its  voice  of 
ages  on  the  breeze,  knolling  the  hourly  knell  of  the 
Past,  crying  out  far  and  wide  through  the  multitudinous 
city,  and  filling  our  ears,  as  we  sat  in  the  dusky  cham 
ber,  with  its  reverberating  depth  of  tone.  In  that  same 
mansion  —  in  that  very  chamber  —  what  a  volume  of 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  79 

history  had  been  told  off  into  hours,  by  the  same  voice 
that  was  now  trembling  in  the  air.  Many  a  Governor 
had  heard  those  midnight  accents,  and  longed  to  ex 
change  his  stately  cares  for  slumber.  And  as  for  mine 
host,  and  Mr.  Bela  Tiffany,  and  the  old  loyalist,  and 
me,  we  had  babbled  about  dreams  of  the  past,  until  we 
almost  fancied  that  the  clock  was  still  striking  in  a  by 
gone  century.  Neither  of  us  would  have  wondered, 
had  a  hoop-petticoated  phantom  of  Esther  Dudley 
tottered  into  the  chamber,  walking  her  rounds  in  the 
hush  of  midnight,  as  of  yore,  and  motioned  us  to 
quench  the  fading  embers  of  the  fire,  and  leave  the 
historic  precincts  to  herself  and  her  kindred  shades. 
But  as  no  such  vision  was  vouchsafed,  I  retired  unbid 
den,  and  would  advise  Mr.  Tiffany  to  lay  hold  of  another 
auditor,  being  resolved  not  to  show  my  face  in  the 
Province  House  for  a  good  while  hence  —  if  ever. 


THE    HAUNTED    MIND. 

WHAT  a  singular  moment  is  the  first  one,  when  you 
have  hardly  begun  to  recollect  yourself,  after  starting 
from  midnight  slumber !  By  unclosing  your  eyes  so 
suddenly,  you  seem  to  have  surprised  the  personages 
of  your  dream  in  full  convocation  round  your  bed, 
and  catch  one  broad  glance  at  them  before  they  can 
flit  into  obscurity.  Or,  to  vary  the  metaphor,  you  find 
yourself,  for  a  single  instant,  wide  awake  in  that  realm 
of  illusions,  whither  sleep  has  been  the  passport,  and 
behold  its  ghostly  inhabitants  and  wondrous  scenery, 
with  a  perception  of  their  strangeness,  such  as  you 
never  attain  while  the  dream  is  undisturbed.  The 
distant  sound  of  a  church  clock  is  borne  faintly  on  the 
wind.  You  question  with  yourself,  half  seriously, 
whether  it  has  stolen  to  your  waking  ear  from  some 
gray  tower,  that  stood  within  the  precincts  of  your 
dream.  While  yet  in  suspense,  another  clock  flings 
its  heavy  clang  over  the  slumbering  town,  with  so  full 
and  distinct  a  sound,  and  such  a  long  murmur  in  the 
neighboring  air,  that  you  are  certain  it  must  proceed 
from  the  steeple  at  the  nearest  corner.  You  count  the 
strokes  —  one  —  two,  and  there  they  cease,  with  a 
booming  sound,  like  the  gathering  of  a  third  stroke 
within  the  bell. 

If  you  could  choose  an  hour  of  wakefulness  out  of 


THE    HAUNTED    MIND.  81 

the  whole  night,  it  would  be  this.  Since  your  sober 
bedtime,  at  eleven,  you  have  had  rest  enough  to  take 
off  the  pressure  of  yesterday's  fatigue  ;  while  before 
you,  till  the  sun  comes  from  c  far  Cathay '  to  brighten 
your  window,  there  is  almost  the  space  of  a  summer 
night ;  one  hour  to  be  spent  in  thought,  with  the 
mind's  eye  half  shut,  and  two  in  pleasant  dreams, 
and  two  in  that  strangest  of  enjoyments,  the  forget- 
fulness  alike  of  joy  and  woe.  The  moment  of  rising 
belongs  to  another  period  of  time,  and  appears  so  dis 
tant,  that  the  plunge  out  of  a  warm  bed  into  the  frosty 
air  cannot  yet  be  anticipated  with  dismay.  Yesterday 
has  already  vanished  among  the  shadows  of  the  past ; 
to-morrow  has  not  yet  emerged  from  the  future.  You 
have  found  an  intermediate  space,  where  the  business 
of  life  does  not  intrude  ;  where  the  passing  moment 
lingers,  and  becomes  truly  the  present ;  a  spot  where 
Father  Time,  when  he  thinks  nobody  is  watching  him, 
sits  clown  by  the  wayside  to  take  breath.  Oh,  that  he 
would  fall  asleep,  and  let  mortals  live  on  without 
growing  older ! 

Hitherto  you  have  lain  perfectly  still,  because,  the 
slightest  motion  would  dissipate  the  fragments  of  your 
slumber.  Now,  being  irrevocably  awake,  you  peep 
through  the  half  drawn  window  curtain,  and  observe 
that  the  glass  is  ornamented  with  fanciful  devices  in 
frost-work,  and  that  each  pane  presents  something 
like  a  frozen  dream.  There  will  be  time  enough  to 
trace  out  the  analogy,  while  waiting  the  summons  to 
breakfast.  Seen  through  the  clear  portion  of  the  glass, 
where  the  silvery  mountain  peaks  of  the  frost  scenery 
do  not  ascend,  the  most  conspicuous  object  is  the 


82  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

steeple  ;  the  white  spire  of  which  directs  you  to  the 
wintry  lustre  of  the  firmament.  You  may  almost 
distinguish  the  figures  on  the  clock  that  has  just  told 
the  hour.  Such  a  frosty  sky,  and  the  snow-covered 
roofs,  and  the  long  vista  of  the  frozen  street,  all  white, 
and  the  distant  water  hardened  into  rock,  might  make 
you  shiver,  even  under  four  blankets  and  a  woollen 
comforter.  Yet  look  at  that  one  glorious  star !  Its 
beams  are  distinguishable  from  all  the  rest,  and  actu 
ally  cast  the  shadow  of  the  casement  on  the  bed,  with 
a  radiance  of  deeper  hue  than  moonlight,  though  not 
so  accurate  an  outline. 

You  sink  down  and  muffle  your  head  in  the  clothes, 
shivering  all  the  while,  but  less  from  bodily  chill,  than 
the  bare  idea  of  a  polar  atmosphere.  It  is  too  cold 
even  for  the  thoughts  to  venture  abroad.  You  specu 
late  on  the  luxury  of  wearing  out  a  whole  existence 
in  bed,  like  an  oyster  in  its  shell,  content  with  the 
sluggish  ecstasy  of  inaction,  and  drowsily  conscious 
of  nothing  but  delicious  warmth,  such  as  you  now 
feel  again.  Ah  !  that  idea  has  brought  a  hideous  one 
in  its  train.  You  think  how  the  dead  are  lying  in  their 
cold  shrouds  and  narrow  coffins,  through  the  drear 
winter  of  the  grave,  and  cannot  persuade  your  fancy 
that  they  neither  shrink  nor  shiver,  when  the  snow  is 
drifting  over  their  little  hillocks,  and  the  bitter  blast 
howls  against  the  door  of  the  tomb.  That  gloomy 
thought  will  collect  a  gloomy  multitude,  and  throw  its 
complexion  over  your  wakeful  hour. 

In  the  depths  of  every  heart,  there  is  a  tomb  and 
a  dungeon,  though  the  lights,  the  music,  and  revelry 
above  may  cause  us  to  forget  their  existence,  and  the 


THE    HAUNTED    MIND.  83 

buried  ones,  or  prisoners  whom  they  hide.  But  some 
times,  and  oftenest  at  midnight,  those  dark  receptacles 
are  flung  wide  open.  In  an  hour  like  this,  when  the 
mind  has  a  passive  sensibility,  but  no  active  strength  ; 
when  the  imagination  is  a  mirror,  imparting  vividness 
to  all  ideas,  without  the  power  of  selecting  or  control 
ling  them  ;  then  pray  that  your  griefs  may  slumber, 
and  the  brotherhood  of  remorse  not  break  their  chain. 
It  is  too  late  !  A  funeral  train  comes  gliding  by  your 
bed,  in  which  Passion  and  Feeling  assume  bodily 
shape,  and  things  of  the  mind  become  dim  spectres 
to  the  eye.  There  is  your  earliest  Sorrow,  a  pale 
young  mourner,  wearing  a  sister's  likeness  to  first 
love,  sadly  beautiful,  with  a  hallowed  sweetness  in 
her  melancholy  features,  and  grace  in  the  flow  of 
her  sable  robe.  Next  appears  a  shade  of  ruined 
loveliness,  with  dust  among  her  golden  hair,  and  her 
bright  garments  all  faded  and  defaced,  stealing  from 
your  glance  with  drooping  head,  as  fearful  of  re 
proach  ;  she  was  your  fondest  Hope,  but  a  delusive 
one ;  so  call  her  Disappointment  now.  A  sterner 
form  succeeds,  with  a  brow  of  wrinkles,  a  look  and 
gesture  of  iron  authority  ;  there  is  no  name  for  him 
unless  it  be  Fatality,  an  emblem  of  the  evil  influence 
that  rules  your  fortunes ;  a  demon  to  whom  you  sub 
jected  yourself  by  some  error  at  the  outset  of  life, 
and  were  bound  his  slave  forever,  by  once  obeying 
him.  See  !  those  fiendish  lineaments  graven  on  the 
darkness,  the  writhed  lip  of  scorn,  the  mockery  of 
that  living  eye,  the  pointed  finger,  touching  the  sore 
place  in  your  heart !  Do  you  remember  any  act  of 
enormous  folly,  at  which  you  would  blush,  even  in  the 


84  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

remotest  cavern  of  the  earth  ?  Then  recognise  your 
Shame. 

Pass,  wretched  band !  Well  for  the  wakeful  one, 
if,  riotously  miserable,  a  fiercer  tribe  do  not  surround 
him,  the  devils  of  a  guilty  heart,  that  holds  its  hell 
within  itself.  What  if  Remorse  should  assume  the 
features  of  an  injured  friend  ?  What  if  the  fiend 
should  come  in  woman's  garments,  with  a  pale  beauty 
amid  sin  and  desolation,  and  lie  down  by  your  side  ? 
What  if  he  should  stand  at  your  bed's  foot,  in  the 
likeness  of  a  corpse,  with  a  bloody  stain  upon  the 
shroud  ?  Sufficient  without  such  guilt,  is  this  night 
mare  of  the  soul ;  this  heavy,  heavy  sinking  of  the 
spirits ;  this  wintry  gloom  about  the  heart ;  this  indis 
tinct  horror  of  the  mind,  blending  itself  with  the  dark 
ness  of  the  chamber. 

By  a  desperate  effort,  you  start  upright,  breaking 
from  a  sort  of  conscious  sleep,  and  gazing  wildly 
round  the  bed,  as  if  the  fiends  were  any  where  but 
in  your  haunted  mind.  At  the  same  moment,  the 
slumbering  embers  on  the  hearth  send  forth  a  gleam 
which  palely  illuminates  the  whole  outer  room,  and 
nickers  through  the  door  of  the  bed-chamber,  but 
cannot  quite  dispel  its  obscurity.  Your  eye  searches 
for  whatever  may  remind  you  of  the  living  world. 
With  eager  minuteness,  you  take  note  of  the  table 
near  the  fireplace,  the  book  with  an  ivory  knife  be 
tween  its  leaves,  the  unfolded  letter,  the  hat  and  the 
fallen  glove.  Soon  the  flame  vanishes,  and  with  it 
the  whole  scene  is  gone,  though  its  image  remains  an 
instant  in  your  mind's  eye,  when  darkness  has  swal 
lowed  the  reality.  Throughout  the  chamber,  there  is 


THE    HAUNTED    MIND.  85 

« 

the  same  obscurity  as  before,  but  not  the  same  gloom 
within  your  breast.  As  your  head  falls  back  upon  the 
pillow,  you  think  —  in  a  whisper  be  it  spoken  —  how 
pleasant  in  these  night  solitudes,  would  be  the  rise 
and  fall  of  a  softer  breathing  than  your  own,  the 
slight  pressure  of  a  tenderer  bosom,  the  quiet  throb 
of  a  purer  heart,  imparting  its  peacefulness  to  your 
troubled  one,*  as  if  the  fond  sleeper  were  involving 
you  in  her  dream. 

Her  influence  is  over  you,  though  she  have  no 
existence  but  in  that  momentary  image.  You  sink 
down  in  a  flowery  spot,  on  the  borders  of  sleep  and 
wakefulness,  while  your  thoughts  rise  before  you  in 
pictures,  all  disconnected,  yet  all  assimilated  by  a 
pervading  gladsomeness  and  beauty.  The  wheeling 
of  gorgeous  squadrons,  that  glitter  in  the  sun,  is  suc 
ceeded  by  the  merriment  of  children  round  the  door 
of  a  schoolhouse,  beneath  the  glimmering  shadow  of 
old  trees,  at  the  corner  of  a  rustic  lane.  You  stand 
in  the  sunny  rain  of  a  summer  shower,  and  wander 
among  the  sunny  trees  of  an  autumnal  wood,  and 
look  upward  at  the  brightest  of  all  rainbows,  over 
arching  the  unbroken  sheet  of  snow,  on  the  American 
side  of  Niagara.  Your  mind  struggles  pleasantly 
between  the  dancing  radiance  round  the  hearth  of  a 
young  man  and  his  recent  bride,  and  the  twittering 
flight  of  birds  in  spring,  about  their  new-made  nest. 
You  feel  the  merry  bounding  of  a  ship  before  the 
breeze  ;  and  watch  the  tuneful  feet  of  rosy  girls,  as 
they  twine  their  last  and  merriest  dance,  in  a  splendid 
ball-room ;  and  find  yourself  in  the  brilliant  circle  of 
VOL.  n.  6 


86  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

) 

a  crowded  theatre,  as  the  curtain  falls  over  a  light 
and  airy  scene. 

With  an  involuntary  start,  you  seize  hold  on  con 
sciousness,  and  prove  yourself  but  half  awake,  by 
running  a  doubtful  parallel  between  human  life  and 
the  hour  which  has  now  elapsed.  In  both  you  emerge 
from  mystery,  pass  through  a  vicissitude  that  you  can 
but  imperfectly  control,  and  are  borne  onward  to 
another  mystery.  Now  comes  the  peal  of  the  dis 
tant  clock,  with  fainter  and  fainter  strokes  as  you 
plunge  farther  into  the  wilderness  of  sleep.  It  is 
the  knell  of  a  temporary  death.  Your  spirit  has 
departed,  and  strays  like  a  free  citizen,  among  the 
people  of  a  shadowy  world,  beholding  strange  sights, 
yet  without  wonder  or  dismay.  So  calm,  perhaps, 
will  be  the  final  change  ;  so  undisturbed,  as  if  among 
familiar  things,  the  entrance  of  the  soul  to  its  Eternal 
home  ! 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE. 

AN  IMAGINARY  RETROSPECT. 

COME  !  another  log  upon  the  hearth.  True,  our  little 
parlor  is  comfortable,  especially  here,  where  the  old 
man  sits  in  his  old  arm-chair;  but  on  Thanksgiving 
night,  the  blaze  should  dance  higher  up  the  chimney, 
and  send  a  shower  of  sparks  into  the  outer  darkness. 
Toss  on  an  armful  of  those  dry  oak  chips,  the  last 
relics  of  the  Mermaid's  knee  timbers,  the  bones  of  your 
namesake,  Susan.  Higher  yet,  and  clearer  be  the 
blaze,  till  our  cottage  windows  glow  the  ruddiest  in  the 
village,  and  the  light  of  our  household  mirth  flash  far 
across  the  bay  to  Nahant.  And  now,  come,  Susan, 
come,  my  children,  draw  your  chairs  round  me,  all  of 
you.  There  is  a  dimness  over  your  figures  !  You  sit 
quivering  indistinctly  with  each  motion  of  the  blaze, 
which  eddies  about  you  like  a  flood,  so  that  you  all 
have  the  look  of  visions,  or  people  that  dwell  only  in  the 
firelight,  and  will  vanish  from  existence,  as  completely 
as  your  own  shadows,  when  the  flame  shall  sink  among 
the  embers.  Hark  !  let  me  listen  for  the  swell  of  the 
surf;  it  should  be  audible  a  mile  inland,  on  a  night 
like  this.  Yes  ;  there  I  catch  the  sound,  but  only  an 
uncertain  murmur,  as  if  a  good  way  down  over  the 
beach ;  though,  by  the  almanac,  it  is  high  tide  at  eight 


88  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

o'clock,  and  the  billows  must  now  be  dashing  within 
thirty  yards  of  our  door.  Ah !  the  old  man's  ears  are 
failing  him  ;  and  so  is  his  eyesight,  and  perhaps  his 
mind ;  else  you  would  not  all  be  so  shadowy,  in  the 
blaze  of  his  Thanksgiving  fire. 

How  strangely  the  past  is  peeping  over  the  shoulders 
of  the  present !  To  judge  by  my  recollections,  it  is 
but  a  few  moments  since  I  sat  in  another  room  ;  yonder 
model  of  a  vessel  was  not  there,  nor  the  old  chest  of 
drawers,  nor  Susan's  profile  and  mine,  in  that  gilt 
frame  ;  nothing,  in  short,  except  this  same  fire,  which 
glimmered  on  books,  papers,  and  a  picture,  and  half 
discovered  my  solitary  figure  in  a  looking-glass.  But 
it  was  paler  than  my  rugged  old  self,  and  younger,  too, 
by  almost  half  a  centuiy.  Speak  to  me,  Susan  ;  speak, 
my  beloved  ones  ;  for  the  scene  is  glimmering  on  my 
sight  again,  and  as  it  brightens  you  fade  away.  Oh  ! 
I  should  be  loth  to  lose  my  treasure  of  past  happiness, 
and  become  once  more  what  I  was  then ;  a  hermit  in 
the  depths  of  my  own  mind ;  sometimes  yawning  over 
drowsy  volumes,  and  anon  a  scribbler  of  wearier  trash 
than  what  I  read  ;  a  man  who  had  wandered  out  of  the 
real  world  and  got  into  its  shadow,  where  his  troubles, 
joys  and  vicissitudes  were  of  such  slight  stuff,  that  he 
hardly  knew  whether  he  lived,  or  only  dreamed  of 
living.  Thank  Heaven,  I  am  an  old  man  now,  and 
have  done  with  all  such  vanities. 

Still  this  dimness  of  mine  eyes  !  Come  nearer,  Susan, 
and  stand  before  the  fullest  blaze  of  the  hearth.  Now 
I  behold  you  illuminated  from  head  to  foot,  in  your 
clean  cap  and  decent  gown,  with  the  dear  lock  of  gray 
hair  across  your  forehead,  and  a  quiet  smile  about  your 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  89 

mouth,  while  the  eyes  alone  are  concealed,  by  the  red 
gleam  of  the  fire  upon  your  spectacles.  There,  you 
made  me  tremble  again  !  When  the  flame  quivered, 
my  sweet  Susan,  you  quivered  with  it,  and  grew  indis 
tinct,  as  if  melting  into  the  warm  light,  that  my  last 
glimpse  of  you  might  be  as  visionary  as  the  first  was, 
full  many  a  year  since.  Do  you  remember  it  ?  You 
stood  on  the  little  bridge,  over  the  brook,  that  runs 
across  King's  Beach  into  the  sea.  It  was  twilight ;  the 
waves  rolling  in,  the  wind  sweeping  by,  the  crimson 
clouds  fading  in  the  west,  and  the  silver  moon  bright 
ening  above  the  hill ;  and  on  the  bridge  were  you, 
fluttering  in  the  breeze  like  a  seabird  that  might  skim 
away  at  your  pleasure.  You  seemed  a  daughter  of 
the  viewless  wind,  a  creature  of  the  ocean  foam  and 
the  crimson  light,  whose  merry  life  was  spent  in 
dancing  on  the  crests  of  the  billows,  that  threw  up 
their  spray  to  support  your  footsteps.  As  I  drew 
nearer,  I  fancied  you  akin  to  the  race  of  mermaids,  and 
thought  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  dwell  with  you 
among  the  quiet  coves,  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliffs,  and 
to  roam  along  secluded  beaches  of  the  purest  sand, 
and  when  our  northern  shores  grew  bleak,  to  haunt 
the  islands,  green  and  lonely,  far  amid  summer  seas. 
And  yet  it  gladdened  me,  after  all  this  nonsense,  to 
find  you  nothing  but  a  pretty  young  girl,  sadly  per 
plexed  with  the  rude  behavior  of  the  wind  about  your 
petticoats. 

Thus  I  did  with  Susan  as  with  most  other  things  in 
my  earlier  days,  dipping  her  image  into  my  mind  and 
coloring  it  of  a  thousand  fantastic  hues,  before  I  could 
see  her  as  she  really  was.  Now,  Susan,  for  a  sober 


90  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

picture  of  our  village  !  It  was  a  small  collection  of 
dwellings  that  seemed  to  have  been  cast  up  by  the  sea, 
with  the  rock-weed  and  marine  plants  that  it  vomits 
after  a  storm,  or  to  have  come  ashore  among  the  pipe 
staves  and  other  lumber,  which  had  been  washed  from 
the  deck  of  an  eastern  schooner.  There  was  just 
space  for  the  narrow  and  sandy  street  between  the 
beach  in  front,  and  a  precipitous  hill  that  lifted  its 
rocky  forehead  in  the  rear,  among  a  waste  of  juniper 
bushes  and  the  wild  growth  of  a  broken  pasture.  The 
village  was  picturesque,  in  the  variety  of  its  edifices, 
though  all  were  rude.  Here  stood  a  little  old  hovel, 
built,  perhaps,  of  drift-wood,  there  a  row  of  boat-houses, 
and  beyond  them  a  two-story  dwelling,  of  dark  and 
weather-beaten  aspect,  the  whole  intermixed  with  one 
or  two  snug  cottages,  painted  white,  a  sufficiency  of 
pig-styes,  and  a  shoemaker's  shop.  Two  grocery  stores 
stood  opposite  each  other,  in  the  centre  of  the  village. 
These  were  the  places  of  resort,  at  their  idle  hours,  of 
a  hardy  throng  of  fishermen,  in  red  baize  shirts,  oil 
cloth  trousers,  and  boots  of  brown  leather  covering  the 
whole  leg ;  true  seven  league  boots,  but  fitter  to  wade 
the  ocean  than  walk  the  earth.  The  wearers  seemed 
amphibious,  as  if  they  did  but  creep  out  of  salt  water 
to  sun  themselves  ;  nor  would  it  have  been  wonderful 
to  see  their  lower  limbs  covered  with  clusters  of  little 
shell-fish,  such  as  cling  to  rocks  and  old  ship  timber 
over  which  the  tide  ebbs  and  flows.  When  their  fleet 
of  boats  was  weather-bound,  the  butchers  raised  their 
price,  and  the  spit  was  busier  than  the  frying  pan ;  for 
this  was  a  place  of  fish,  and  known  as  such,  to  all  the 
country  round  about;  the  very  air  was  fishy,  being 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  91 

perfumed  with  dead  sculpins,  hard-heads  and  dog-fish, 
strewn  plentifully  on  the  beach.  You  see,  children, 
the  village  is  but  little  changed,  since  your  mother  and 
I  were  young. 

How  like  a  dream  it  was,  when  I  bent  over  a  pool  of 
water,  one  pleasant  morning,  and  saw  that  the  ocean 
had  dashed  its  spray  over  me  and  made  me  a  fisher 
man  !  There  was  the  tarpaulin,  the  baize  shirt,  the  oil 
cloth  trousers  and  seven  league  boots,  and  there  my 
own  features,  but  so  reddened  with  sunburn  and  sea 
breezes,  that  methought  I  had  another  face,  and  on 
other  shoulders  too.  The  seagulls  and  the  loons,  and 
I,  had  now  all  one  trade  ;  we  skimmed  the  crested 
waves  and  sought  our  prey  beneath  them,  the  man 
with  as  keen  enjoyment  as  the  birds.  Always  when 
the  east  grew  purple,  I  launched  my  dory,  my  little 
flat-bottomed  skiff,  and  rowed  cross-handed  to  Point 
Ledge,  the  Middle  Ledge,  or,  perhaps,  beyond  Egg 
Rock  ;  often,  too,  did  I  anchor  off  Dread  Ledge,  a  spot 
of  peril  to  ships  unpiloted  ;  and  sometimes  spread  an 
adventurous  sail  and  tracked  across  the  bay  to  South 
Shore,  casting  my  lines  in  sight  of  Scituate.  Ere 
nightfall,  I  hauled  my  skiff  high  and  dry  on  the  beach, 
laden  with  red  rock-cod,  or  the  white  bellied  ones  of 
deep  water  ;  haddock,  bearing  the  black  marks  of  Saint 
Peter's  fingers  near  the  gills  ;  the  long-bearded  hake, 
whose  liver  holds  oil  enough  for  a  midnight  lamp  ;  and 
now  and  then  a  mighty  halibut,  with  a  back  broad  as 
my  boat.  In  the  autumn,  I  toled  and  caught  those 
lovely  fish,  the  mackerel.  When  the  wind  was  high, — 
when  the  whale  boats,  anchored  off  the  Point,  nodded 
their  slender  masts  at  each  other,  and  the  dories  pitched 


\)'£  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

and  tossed  in  the  surf,  —  when  Nahant  Beach  was 
thundering  three  miles  off,  and  the  spray  broke  a  hun 
dred  feet  in  air,  round  the  distant  base  of  Egg  Rock, — 
when  the  brimful  and  boisterous  sea  threatened  to 
tumble  over  the  street  of  our  village,  —  then  I  made  a 
holiday  on  shore. 

Many  such  a  day  did  I  sit  snugly  in  Mr.  Bartlett's 
store,  attentive  to  the  yarns  of  uncle  Parker ;  uncle  to 
the  whole  village,  by  right  of  seniority,  but  of  southern 
blood,  with  no  kindred  in  New  England.  His  figure 
is  before  me  now,  enthroned  upon  a  mackerel  barrel ; 
a  lean  old  man,  of  great  height,  but  bent  with  years, 
and  twisted  into  an  uncouth  shape  by  seven  broken 
limbs  ;  furrowed  also,  and  weather-worn,  as  if  every 
gale,  for  the  better  part  of  a  century,  had  caught  him 
somewhere  on  the  sea.  He  looked  like  a  harbinger 
of  tempest ;  a  shipmate  of  the  Flying  Dutchman.  After 
innumerable  voyages  aboard  men-of-war  and  merchant 
men,  fishing  schooners  and  chebacco  boats,  the  old  salt 
had  become  master  of  a  hand-cart,  which  he  daily 
trundled  about  the  vicinity,  and  sometimes  blew  his 
fish-horn  through  the  streets  of  Salem.  One  of  uncle 
Parker's  eyes  had  been  blown  out  with  gunpowder, 
and  the  other  did  but  glimmer  in  its  socket.  Turning 
it  upward  as  he  spoke,  it  was  his  delight  to  tell  of 
cruises  against  the  French,  and  battles  with  his  own 
shipmates,  when  he  and  an  antagonist  used  to  be  seated 
astride  of  a  sailor's  chest,  each  fastened  down  by  a 
spike-nail  through  his  trousers,  and  there  to  fight  it  out. 
Sometimes  he  expatiated  on  the  delicious  flavor  of  the 
hagden,  a  greasy  and  goose-like  fowl,  which  the  sailors 
catch  with  hook  and  line  on  the  Grand  Banks.  He 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  93 

dwelt  with  rapture  on  an  interminable  winter  at  the 
Isle  of  Sables,  where  he  had  gladdened  himself,  amid 
polar  snows,  with  the  rum  and  sugar  saved  from  the 
wreck  of  a  West  India  schooner.  And  wrathfully  did 
he  shake  his  fist,  as  he  related  how  a  party  of  Cape 
Cod  men  had  robbed  him  and  his  companions  of  their 
lawful  spoil,  and  sailed  away  with  every  keg  of  old 
Jamaica,  leaving  him  not  a  drop  to  drown  his  sorrow. 
Villains  they  were,  and  of  that  wicked  brotherhood  who 
are  said  to  tie  lanterns  to  horses'  tails,  to  mislead  the 
mariner  along  the  dangerous  shores  of  the  Cape. 

Even  now,  I  seem  to  see  the  group  of  fishermen, 
with  that  old  salt  in  the  midst.  One  fellow  sits  on  the 
counter,  a  second  bestrides  an  oil  barrel,  a  third  lolls 
at  his  length  on  a  parcel  of  new  cod-lines,  and  an 
other  has  planted  the  tarry  seat  of  his  trousers  on  a 
heap  of  salt,  which  will  shortly  be  sprinkled  over  a 
lot  of  fish.  They  are  a  likely  set  of  men.  Some 
have  voyaged  to  the  East  Indies  or  the  Pacific,  and 
most  of  them  have  sailed  in  Marblehead  schooners 
to  Newfoundland ;  a  few  have  been  no  farther  than 
the  Middle  Banks,  and  one  or  two  have  always  fished 
along  the  shore  ;  but,  as  uncle  Parker  used  to  say, 
they  have  all  been  christened  in  salt  water,  and  know 
more  than  men  ever  learn  in  the  bushes.  A  curious 
figure,  by  way  of  contrast,  is  a  fish-dealer  from  far 
up-country,  listening  with  eyes  wide  open,  to  narratives 
that  might  startle  Sinbad  the  sailor.  Be  it  well  with 
you,  my  brethren !  Ye  are  all  gone,  some  to  your 
graves  ashore,  and  others  to  the  depths  of  ocean ;  but 
my  faith  is  strong  that  ye  are  happy ;  for  whenever  I 
behold  your  forms,  whether  in  dream  or  vision,  each 


94  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

departed  friend  is  puffing  his  long  nine,  and  a  mug  of 
the  right  black-strap  goes  round  from  lip  to  lip  ! 

But  where  was  the  mermaid  in  those  delightful 
times  ?  At  a  certain  window  near  the  centre  of  the 
village,  appeared  a  pretty  display  of  gingerbread  men 
and  horses,  picture-books  and  ballads,  small  fish-hooks, 
pins,  needles,  sugar-plums  and  brass  thimbles,  articles 
on  which  the  young  fishermen  used  to  expend  their 
money  from  pure  gallantry.  What  a  picture  was 
Susan  behind  the  counter  !  A  slender  maiden,  though 
the  child  of  rugged  parents,  she  had  the  slimmest  of 
all  waists,  brown  hair  curling  on  her  neck,  and  a 
complexion  rather  pale,  except  when  the  sea-breeze 
flushed  it.  A  few  freckles  became  beauty  spots 
beneath  her  eyelids.  How  was  it,  Susan,  that  you 
talked  and  acted  so  carelessly,  yet  always  for  the 
best,  doing  whatever  was  right  in  your  own  eyes,  and 
never  once  doing  wrong  in  mine,  nor  shocked  a  taste 
that  had  been  morbidly  sensitive  till  now  ?  And  whence 
had  you  that  happiest  gift,  of  brightening  every  topic 
with  an  unsought  gayety,  quiet  but  irresistible,  so  that 
even  gloomy  spirits  felt  your  sunshine,  and  did  not 
shrink  from  it  ?  Nature  wrought  the  charm.  She 
made  you  a  frank,  simple,  kind-hearted,  sensible  and 
mirthful  girl.  Obeying  nature,  you  did  free  things 
without  indelicacy,  displayed  a  maiden's  thoughts  to 
every  eye,  and  proved  yourself  as  innocent  as  naked 
Eve. 

It  was  beautiful  to  observe,  how  her  simple  and 
happy  nature  mingled  itself  with  mine.  She  kindled  a 
domestic  fire  within  my  heart,  and  took  up  her  dwell 
ing  there,  even  in  that  chill  and  lonesome  cavern,  hung 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  95 

round  with  glittering  icicles  of  fancy.  She  gave  me 
warmth  of  feeling,  while  the  influence  of  my  mind 
made  her  contemplative.  I  taught  her  to  love  the 
moonlight  hour,  when  the  expanse  of  the  encircled 
bay  was  smooth  as  a  great  mirror  and  slept  in  a  trans 
parent  shadow  ;  while  beyond  Nahant,  the  wind  rippled 
the  dim  ocean  into  a  dreamy  brightness,  which  grew 
faint  afar  off,  without  becoming  gloomier.  I  held  her 
hand  and  pointed  to  the  long  surf- wave,  as  it  rolled 
calmly  on  the  beach,  in  an  unbroken  line  of  silver ; 
we  were  silent  together,  till  its  deep  and  peaceful  mur 
mur  had  swept  by  us.  When  the  Sabbath  sun  shone 
down  into  the  recesses  of  the  cliffs,  I  led  the  mermaid 
thither,  and  told  her  that  those  huge,  gray,  shattered 
rocks,  and  her  native  sea,  that  raged  for  ever  like  a 
storm  against  them,  and  her  own  slender  beauty,  in  so 
stern  a  scene,  were  all  combined  into  a  strain  of  poetry. 
But  on  the  Sabbath  eve,  when  her  mother  had  gone 
early  to  bed,  and  her  gentle  sister  had  smiled  and  left 
us,  as  we  sat  alone  by  the  quiet  hearth,  with  household 
things  around,  it  was  her  turn  to  make  me  feel,  that 
here  was  a  deeper  poetry,  and  that  this  was  the  dearest 
hour  of  all.  Thus  went  on  our  wooing,  till  I  had  shot 
wild  fowl  enough  to  feather  our  bridal  bed,  and  the 
Daughter  of  the  Sea  was  mine. 

I  built  a  cottage  for  Susan  and  myself,  and  made  a 
gateway  in  the  form  of  a  Gothic  arch,  by  setting  up  a 
whale's  jaw-bones.  We  bought  a  heifer  with  her  first 
calf,  and  had  a  little  garden  on  the  hill-side,  to  supply 
us  with  potatoes  and  green  sauce  for  our  fish.  Our 
parlor,  small  and  neat,  was  ornamented  with  our  two 
profiles  in  one  gilt  frame,  and  with  shells  and  pretty 


96  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

pebbles  on  the  mantelpiece,  selected  from  the  sea's 
treasury  of  such  things,  on  Nahant  Beach.  On  the 
desk,  beneath  the  looking-glass,  lay  the  Bible,  which  I 
had  begun  to  read  aloud  at  the  book  of  Genesis,  and 
the  singing  book  that  Susan  used  for  her  evening  psalm. 
Except  the  almanac,  we  had  no  other  literature.  All 
that  I  heard  of  books,  was  when  an  Indian  history,  or 
tale  of  shipwreck,  was  sold  by  a  pedler  or  wandering 
subscription  man,  to  some  one  in  the  village,  and  read 
through  its  owner's  nose  to  a  slumbrous  auditory.  Like 
my  brother  fishermen,  I  grew  into  the  belief  that  all 
human  erudition  was  collected  in  our  pedagogue.,  whose 
green  spectacles  and  solemn  phiz,  as  he  passed  to  his 
little  schoolhouse,  amid  a  waste  of  sand,  might  have 
gained  him  a  diploma  from  any  college  in  New  Eng 
land.  In  truth  I  dreaded  him.  When  our  children 
were  old  enough  to  claim  his  care,  you  remember, 
Susan,  how  I  frowned,  though  you  were  pleased,  at 
this  learned  man's  encomiums  on  their  proficiency.  I 
feared  to  trust  them  even  with  the  alphabet ;  it  was  the 
key  to  a  fatal  treasure. 

But  I  loved  to  lead  them  by  their  little  hands  along 
the  beach,  and  point  to  nature  in  the  vast  and  the 
minute,  the  sky,  the  sea,  the  green  earth,  the  pebbles 
and  the  shells.  Then  did  I  discourse  of  the  mighty 
works  and  co-extensive  goodness  of  the  Deity,  with 
the  simple  wisdom  of  a  man  whose  mind  had  profited 
by  lonely  days  upon  the  deep,  and  his  heart  by  the 
strong  and  pure  affections  of  his  evening  home.  Some 
times  my  voice  lost  itself  in  a  tremulous  depth  ;  for  I 
felt  His  eye  upon  me  as  I  spoke.  Once,  while  my  wife 
and  all  of  us  were  gazing  at  ourselves,  in  the  mirror 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  97 

left  by  the  tide  in  a  hollow  of  the  sand,  I  pointed  to 
the  pictured  heaven  below,  and  bade  her  observe  how 
religion  was  strewn  every  where  in  our  path ;  since 
even  a  casual  pool  of  water  recalled  the  idea  of  that 
home  whither  we  were  travelling,  to  rest  forever  with 
our  children.  Suddenly,  your  image,  Susan,  and  all 
the  little  faces  made  up  of  yours  and  mine,  seemed 
to  fade  away  and  vanish  around  me,  leaving  a  pale 
visage  like  my  own  of  former  days  within  the  frame 
of  a  large  looking-glass.  Strange  illusion  ! 

My  life  glided  on,  the  past  appearing  to  mingle 
with  the  present  and  absorb  the  future,  till  the  whole 
lies  before  me  at  a  glance.  My  manhood  has  long 
been  waning  with  a  stanch  decay ;  my  earlier  contem 
poraries,  after  lives  of  unbroken  health,  are  all  at  rest, 
without  having  known  the  weariness  of  later  age  ;  and 
now,  with  a  wrinkled  forehead  and  thin  white  hair  as 
badges  of  my  dignity,  I  have  become  the  patriarch, 
the  Uncle  of  the  village.  I  love  that  name  ;  it  widens 
the  circle  of  my  sympathies ;  it  joins  all  the  youthful 
to  my  household,  in  the  kindred  of  affection. 

Like  uncle  Parker,  whose  rheumatic  bones  were 
dashed  against  Egg  Rock,  full  forty  years  ago,  I  am 
a  spinner  of  long  yarns.  Seated  on  the  gunnel  of  a 
dory,  or  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  boat-house,  where  the 
warmth  is  grateful  to  my  limbs,  or  by  my  own  hearth, 
when  a  friend  or  two  are  there,  I  overflow  with  talk, 
and  yet  am  never  tedious.  With  a  broken  voice  I  give 
utterance  to  much  wisdom.  Such,  Heaven  be  praised  ! 
is  the  vigor  of  my  faculties,  that  many  a  forgotten 
usage,  and  traditions  ancient  in  my  youth,  and  early 
adventures  of  myself  or  others,  hitherto  effaced  by 


93  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

things  more  recent,  acquire  new  distinctness  in  my 
memory.  I  remember  the  happy  days  when  the  had 
dock  were  more  numerous  on  all  the  fishing-grounds 
than  sculpins  in  the  surf;  when  the  deep  water  cod 
swam  close  in  shore,  and  the  dog-fish,  with  his  poison 
ous  horn,  had  not  learnt  to  take  the  hook.  I  can 
number  every  equinoctial  storm,  in  which  the  sea  has 
overwhelmed  the  street,  flooded  the  cellars  of  the 
village,  and  hissed  upon  our  kitchen  hearth.  I  give 
the  history  of  the  great  whale  that  was  landed  on 
Whale  Beach,  and  whose  jaws,  being  now  my  gate 
way,  will  last  for  ages  after  my  coffin  shall  have  passed 
beneath  them.  Thence  it  is  an  easy  digression  to  the 
halibut,  scarcely  smaller  than  the  whale,  which  ran 
out  six  codlines,  and  hauled  my  dory  to  the  mouth  of 
Boston  harbor,  before  I  could  touch  him  with  the  gaff*. 
If  melancholy  accidents  be  the  theme  of  conversa 
tion,  I  tell  how  a  friend  of  mine  was  taken  out  of  his 
boat  by  an  enormous  shark  ;  and  the  sad,  true  tale  of 
a  young  man  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  who  had  been 
nine  days  missing,  when  his  drowned  body  floated  into 
the  very  pathway,  on  Marblehead  Neck,  that  had  often 
led  him  to  the  dwelling  of  his  bride  ;  as  if  the  dripping 
corpse  would  have  come  where  the  mourner  was.  With 
such  awful  fidelity  did  that  lover  return  to  fulfil  his 
vows !  Another  favorite  story  is  of  a  crazy  maiden, 
who  conversed  with  angels  and  had  the  gift  of  proph 
ecy,  and  whom  all  the  village*  loved  and  pitied,  though 
she  went  from  door  to  door  accusing  us  of  sin,  exhort 
ing  to  repentance,  and  foretelling  our  destruction  by 
flood  or  earthquake.  If  the  young  men  boast  their 
knowledge  of  the  ledges  and  sunken  rocks,  I  speak  of 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  99 

pilots,  who  knew  the  wind  by  its  scent  and  the  wave 
by  its  taste,  and  could  have  steered  blindfold  to  any 
port  between  Boston  and  Mount  Desert,  guided  only 
by  the  rote  of  the  shore  ;  the  peculiar  sound  of  the 
surf  on  each  island,  beach,  and  line  of  rocks,  along 
the  coast.  Thus  do  I  talk,  and  all  my  auditors  grow 
wise,  while  they  deem  it  pastime. 

I  recollect  no  happier  portion  of  my  life,  than  this, 
my  calm  old  age.  It  is  like  the  sunny  and  sheltered 
slope  of  a  valley,  where,  late  in  the  autumn,  the  grass 
is  greener  than  in  August,  and  intermixed  with  golden 
dandelions,  that  had  not  been  seen  till  now,  since  the 
first  warmth  of  the  year.  But  with  me,  the  verdure 
and  the  flowers  are  not  frostbitten  in  the  midst  of  win 
ter.  A  playfulness  has  revisited  my  mind  ;  a  sympathy 
with  the  young  and  gay ;  an  unpainful  interest  in  the 
business  of  others ;  a  light  and  wandering  curiosity ; 
arising,  perhaps,  from  the  sense  that  my  toil  on  earth 
is  ended,  and  the  brief  hour  till  bedtime  may  be  spent 
in  play.  Still,  I  have  fancied  that  there  is  a  depth  of 
feeling  and  reflection,  under  this  superficial  levity, 
peculiar  to  one  who  has  lived  long,  and  is  soon  to  die. 

Show  me  any  thing  that  would  make  an  infant 
smile,  and  you  shall  behold  a  gleam  of  mirth  over 
the  hoary  ruin  of  my  visage.  I  can  spend  a  pleasant 
hour  in  the  sun,  watching  the  sports  of  the  village 
children,  on  the  edge  of  the  surf ;  now  they  chase  the 
retreating  wave  far  down  over  the  wet  sand ;  now  it 
steals  softly  up  to  kiss  their  naked  feet ;  now  it  comes 
onward  with  threatening  front,  and  roars  after  the  laugh 
ing  crew,  as  they  scamper  beyond  its  reach.  Why 
should  not  an  old  man  be  merry  too,  when  the  great 


100  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

sea  is  at  play  with  those  little  children  ?  I  delight, 
also,  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  a  pleasure  party  of  young 
men  and  girls,  strolling  along  the  beach  after  an  early 
supper  at  the  Point.  Here,  with  handkerchiefs  at  nose, 
they  bend  over  a  heap  of  eel  grass,  entangled  in  which 
is  a  dead  skate,  so  oddly  accoutred  with  two  legs  and  a 
long  tail,  that  they  mistake  him  for  a  drowned  animal. 
A  few  steps  further,  the  ladies  scream,  and  the  gentle 
men  make  ready  to  protect  them  against  a  young  shark 
of  the  dogfish  kind,  rolling  with  a  lifelike  motion  in  the 
tide  that  has  thrown  him  up.  Next,  they  are  smit  with 
wonder  at  the  black  shells  of  a  wagon-load  of  live 
lobsters,  packed  in  rock-weed  for  the  country  market. 
And  when  they  reach  the  fleet  of  dories,  just  hauled 
ashore  after  the  day's  fishing,  how  do  I  laugh  in  my 
sleeve,  and  sometimes  roar  outright,  at  the  simplicity 
of  these  young  folks  and  the  sly  humor  of  the  fisher 
men  !  In  winter,  when  our  village  is  thrown  into  a 
bustle  by  the  arrival  of  perhaps  a  score  of  country 
dealers,  bargaining  for  frozen  fish,  to  be  transported 
hundreds  of  miles,  and  eaten  fresh  in  Vermont  or 
Canada,  I  am  a  pleased  but  idle  spectator  in  the  throng. 
For  I  launch  my  boat  no  more. 

When  the  shore  was  solitary,  I  have  found  a  pleasure 
that  seemed  even  to  exalt  my  mind,  in  observing  the 
sports  or  contentions  of  two  gulls,  as  they  wheeled  and 
hovered  about  each  other,  with  hoarse  screams,  one 
moment  flapping  on  the  foam  of  the  wave,  and  then 
soaring  aloft,  till  their  white  bosoms  melted  into  the 
upper  sunshine.  In  the  calm  of  the  summer  sunset,  I 
drag  my  aged  limbs,  with  a  little  ostentation  of  activity, 
because  I  am  so  old,  up  to  the  rocky  brow  of  the  hill. 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  101 

There  I  see  the  white  sails  of  many  a  vessel,  outward 
bound  or  homeward  from  afar,  and  the  black  trail  of  a 
vapor  behind  the  eastern  steamboat ;  there,  too,  is  the 
sun,  going  down,  but  not  in  gloom,  and  there  the  illimit 
able  ocean  mingling  with  the  sky,  to  remind  me  of 
Eternity. 

But  sweetest  of  all  is  the  hour  of  cheerful  musing 
and  pleasant  talk,  that  comes  between  the  dusk  and  the 
lighted  candle,  by  my  glowing  fireside.  And  never, 
even  on  the  first  Thanksgiving  night,  when  Susan  and 
I  sat  alone  with  our  hopes,  nor  the  second,  when  a 
stranger  had  been  sent  to  gladden  us,  and  be  the  visible 
image  of  our  affection,  did  I  feel  such  joy  as  now.  All 
that  belong  to  me  are  here  ;  Death  has  taken  none,  nor 
Disease  kept  them  away,  nor  Strife  divided  them  from 
their  parents  or  each  other ;  with  neither  poverty  nor 
riches  to  disturb  them,  nor  the  misery  of  desires  beyond 
their  lot,  they  have  kept  New  England's  festival  round 
the  patriarch's  board.  For  I  am  a  patriarch  !  Here  I 
sit  among  my  descendants,  in  my  old  arm-chair  and 
immemorial  corner,  while  the  firelight  throws  an  appro 
priate  glory  round  my  venerable  frame.  Susan  !  My 
children !  Something  whispers  me,  that  this  happiest 
hour  must  be  the  final  one,  and  that  nothing  remains 
but  to  bless  you  all,  and  depart  with  a  treasure  of 
recollected  joys  to  Heaven.  Will  you  meet  me  there  ? 
Alas  !  your  figures  grow  indistinct,  fading  into  pictures 
on  the  air,  and  now  to  fainter  outlines,  while  the  fire  is 
glimmering  on  the  walls  of  a  familiar  room,  and  shows 
the  book  that  I  flung  down,  and  the  sheet  that  I  left 
half  written,  some  fifty  years  ago.  I  lift  my  eyes  to 
the  looking-glass,  and  perceive  myself  alone,  unless 

VOL.  II.  7 


102  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

those  be  the  mermaid's  features,  retiring  into  the  depths 
of  the  mirror,  with  a  tender  and  melancholy  smile. 

Ah  !  One  feels  a  chillness,  not  bodily,  but  about  the 
heart,  and,  moreover,  a  foolish  dread. of  looking  behind 
him,  after  these  pastimes.  I  can  imagine  precisely 
how  a  magician  would  sit  down  in  gloom  and  terror, 
after  dismissing  the  shadows  that  had  personated  dead 
or  distant  people,  and  stripping  his  cavern  of  the  unreal 
splendor  which  had  changed  it  to  a  palace.  And  now 
for  a  moral  to  my  reverie.  Shall  it  be,  that,  since 
fancy  can  create  so  bright  a  dream  of  happiness,  it 
were  better  to  dream  on  from  youth  to  age,  than  to 
awake  and  strive  doubtfully  for  something  real !  Oh  ! 
the  slight  tissue  of  a  dream  can  no  more  preserve  us 
from  the  stern  reality  of  misfortune,  than  a  robe  of 
cobweb  could  repel  the  wintry  blast.  Be  this  the  moral, 
then.  In  chaste  and  warm  affections,  humble  wishes, 
and  honest  toil  for  some  useful  end,  there  is  health  for 
the  mind,  and  quiet  for  the  heart,  the  prospect  of  a 
happy  life,  and  the  fairest  hope  of  Heaven. 


THE    AMBITIOUS    GUEST. 

ONE  September  night,  a  family  had  gathered  round 
their  hearth,  and  piled  it  high  with  the  drift-wood  of 
mountain  streams,  the  dry  cones  of  the  pine,  and  the 
splintered  ruins  of  great  trees,  that  had  come  crashing 
down  the  precipice.  Up  the  chimney  roared  the  fire, 
and  brightened  the  room  with  its  broad  blaze.  The 
faces  of  the  father  and  mother  had  a  sober  gladness  ; 
the  children  laughed ;  the  eldest  daughter  was  the 
image  of  Happiness  at  seventeen  ;  and  the  aged  grand 
mother,  who  sat  knitting  in  the  warmest  place,  was  the 
image  of  Happiness  grown  old.  They  had  found  the 
'  herb,  heart's  ease,'  in  the  bleakest  spot  of  all  New 
England.  This  family  were  situated  in  the  Notch  of 
the  White  Hills,  where  the  wind  was  sharp  throughout 
the  year,  and  pitilessly  cold  in  the  winter  —  giving 
their  cottage  all  its  fresh  inclemency,  before  it  de 
scended  on  the  valley  of  the  Saco.  They  dwelt  in  a 
cold  spot  and  a  dangerous  one  ;  for  a  mountain  towered 
above  their  heads,  so  steep,  that  the  stones  would  often 
rumble  down  its  sides,  and  startle  them  at  midnight. 

The  daughter  had  just  uttered  some  simple  jest,  that 
filled  them  all  with  mirth,  when  the  wind  came  through 
the  Notch  and  seemed  to  pause  before  their  cottage  — 
rattling  the  door,  with  a  sound  of  wailing  and  lamenta 
tion,  before  it  passed  into  the  valley.  For  a  moment, 


104  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

it  saddened  them,  though  there  was  nothing  unusual  in 
the  tones.  But  the  family  were  glad  again,  when  they 
perceived  that  the  latch  was  lifted  by  some  traveller, 
whose  footsteps  had  been  unheard  amid  the  dreary 
blast,  which  heralded  his  approach,  and  wailed  as  he 
was  entering,  and  went  moaning  away  from  the  door. 

Though  they  dwelt  in  such  a  solitude,  these  people 
held  daily  converse ^with  the  world.  The  romantic  pass 
of  the  Notch  is  a  great  artery,  through  which  the  life- 
blood  of  internal  commerce  is  continually  throbbing, 
between  Maine,  on  one  side,  and  the  Green  Mountains 
and  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence  on  the  other.  The 
stage-coach  always  drew  up  before  the  door  of  the 
cottage.  The  wayfarer,  with  no  companion  but  his 
staff,  paused  here  to  exchange  a  word,  that  the  sense 
of  loneliness  might  not  utterly  overcome  him,  ere 
he  could  pass  through  the  cleft  of  the  mountain,  or 
reach  the  first  house  in  the  valley.  And  here  the 
teamster,  on  his  way  to  Portland  market,  would  put  up 
for  the  night ;  and,  if  a  bachelor,  might  sit  an  hour 
beyond  the  usual  bedtime,  and  steal  a  kiss  from  the 
mountain  maid,  at  parting.  It  was  one  of  those  primi 
tive  taverns,  where  the  traveller  pays  only  for  food  and 
lodging,  but  meets  with  a  homely  kindness,  beyond  all 
price.  When  the  footsteps  were  heard,  therefore,  be 
tween  the  outer  door  and  the  inner  one,  the  whole 
family  rose  up,  grandmother,  children,  and  all,  as  if 
about  to  welcome  some  one  who  belonged  to  them,  and 
whose  fate  was  linked  with  theirs. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  young  man.  His  face  at 
first  wore  the  melancholy  expression,  almost  despond 
ency,  of  one  who  travels  a  wild  and  bleak  road,  at 


THE   AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  105 

nightfall  and  alone,  but  soon  brightened  up,  when  he 
saw  the  kindly  warmth  of  his  reception.  He  felt  his 
heart  spring  forward  to  meet  them  all,  from  the  old 
woman,  who  wiped  a  chair  with  her  apron,  to  the  little 
child  that  held  out  its  arms  to  him.  One  glance  and 
smile  placed  the  stranger  on  a  footing  of  innocent 
familiarity  with  the  eldest  daughter. 

4  Ah,  this  fire  is  the  right  thing ! '  cried  he  ;  4  espe 
cially  when  there  is  such  a  pleasant  circle  round  it. 
I  am  quite  benumbed  ;  for  the  Notch  is  just  like  the 
pipe  of  a  great  pair  of  bellows  ;  it  has  blown  a  terrible 
blast  in  my  face,  all  the  way  from  Bartlett.' 

4  Then  you  are  going  towards  Vermont  ? '  said  the 
master  of  the  house,  as  he  helped  to  take  a  light  knap 
sack  off  the  young  man's  shoulders. 

4  Yes  ;  to  Burlington,  and  far  enough  beyond,'  replied 
he.  c  I  meant  to  have  been  at  Ethan  Crawford's  to 
night  ;  but  a  pedestrian  lingers  along  such  a  road  as 
this.  It  is  no  matter  ;  for,  when  I  saw  this  good  fire, 
and  all  your  cheerful  faces,  I  felt  as  if  you  had  kindled 
it  on  purpose  for  me,  and  were  waiting  my  arrival. 
So  I  shall  sit  down  among  you,  and  make  myself  at 
home.' 

The  frank-hearted  stranger  had  just  drawn  his  chair 
to  the  fire,  when  something  like  a  heavy  footstep  was 
heard  without,  rushing  down  the  steep  side  of  the  moun 
tain,  as  with  long  and  rapid  strides,  and  taking  such  a 
leap,  in  passing  the  cottage,  as  to  strike  the  opposite 
precipice.  The  family  held  their  breath,  because  they 
knew  the  sound,  and  their  guest  held  his,  by  instinct. 

4  The  old  mountain  has  thrown  a  stone  at  us,  for  fear 
we  should  forget  him,'  said  the  landlord,  recovering 


106 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


himself.  c  He  sometimes  nods  his  head,  and  threatens 
to  come  down  ;  but  we  are  old  neighbors,  and  agree 
together  pretty  well,  upon  the  whole.  Besides,  we 
have  a  sure  place  of  refuge,  hard  by,  if  he  should  be 
coming  in  good  earnest.' 

Let  us  now  suppose  the  stranger  to  have  finished  his 
supper  of  bear's  meat ;  and,  by  his  natural  felicity  of 
manner,  to  have  placed  himself  on  a  footing  of  kind 
ness  with  the  whole  family,  so  that  they  talked  as  freely 
together,  as  if  he  belonged  to  their  mountain  brood. 
He  was  of  a  proud,  yet  gentle  spirit  —  haughty  and 
reserved  among  the  rich  and  great ;  but  ever  ready  to 
stoop  his  head  to  the  lowly  cottage  door,  and  be  like  a 
brother  or  a  son  at  the  poor  man's  fireside.  In  the 
household  of  the  Notch,  he  found  warmth  and  sim 
plicity  of  feeling,  the  pervading  intelligence  of  New 
England,  and  a  poetry  of  native  growth,  which  they 
had  gathered,  when  they  little  thought  of  it,  from  the 
mountain  peaks  and  chasms,  and  at  the  very  threshold 
of  their  romantic  and  dangerous  abode.  He  had  trav 
elled  far  and  alone  ;  his  whole  life,  indeed,  had  been  a 
solitary  path  ;  for,  with  the  lofty  caution  of  his  nature, 
he  had  kept  himself  apart  from  those  who  might  other 
wise  have  been  his  companions.  The  family,  too, 
though  so  kind  and  hospitable,  had  that  consciousness 
of  unity  among  themselves,  and  separation  from  the 
world  at  large,  which,  in  every  domestic  circle,  should 
still  keep  a  holy  place,  where  no  stranger  may  intrude. 
But,  this  evening,  a  prophetic  sympathy  impelled  the 
refined  and  educated  youth  to  pour  out  his  heart  before 
the  simple  mountaineers,  and  constrained  them  to  an 
swer  him  with  the  same  free  confidence.  And  thus  it 


THE    AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  107 

should  have  been.  Is  not  the  kindred  of  a  common 
fate  a  closer  tie  than  that  of  birth  ? 

The  secret  of  the  young  man's  character  was,  a 
high  and  abstracted  ambition.  He  could  have  borne 
to  live  an  undistinguished  life,  but  not  to  be  forgotten 
in  the  grave.  Yearning  desire  had  been  transformed 
to  hope  ;  and  hope,  long  cherished,  had  become  like 
certainty,  that,  obscurely  as  he  journeyed  now,  a  glory 
was  to  beam  on  all  his  pathway  —  though  not,  perhaps, 
while  he  was  treading  it.  But,  when  posterity  should 
gaze  back  into  the  gloom  of  what  was  now  the  present, 
they  would  trace  the  brightness  of  his  footsteps,  bright 
ening  as  meaner  glories  faded,  and  confess,  that  a 
gifted  one  had  passed  from  his  cradle  to  his  tomb,  with 
none  to  recognise  him. 

'  As  yet,'  cried  the  stranger  —  his  cheek  glowing 
and  his  eye  flashing  with  enthusiasm  — '  as  yet,  I  have 
done  nothing.  Were  I  to  vanish  from  the  earth  to-mor 
row,  none  would  know  so  much  of  me  as  you ;  that  a 
nameless  youth  came  up,  at  nightfall,  from  the  valley 
of  the  Saco,  and  opened  his  heart  to  you  in  the  evening, 
and  passed  through  the  Notch,  by  sunrise,  and  wras 
seen  no  more.  Not  a  soul  would  ask  — "  Who  was 
he  ?  —  Whither  did  the  wanderer  go  ?  "  But,  I  cannot 
die  till  I  have  achieved  my  destiny.  Then,  let  Death 
come  !  I  shall  have  built  my  monument ! ' 

There  was  a  continual  flow  of  natural  emotion, 
gushing  forth  amid  abstracted  reverie,  which  enabled 
the  family  to  understand  this  young  man's  sentiments, 
though  so  foreign  from  their  own.  With  quick  sen 
sibility  of  the  ludicrous,  he  blushed  at  the  ardor  into 
which  he  had  been  betrayed. 


108  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

'  You  laugh  at  me,'  said  he,  taking  the  eldest  daugh 
ter's  hand,  and  laughing  himself.  i  You  think  my 
ambition  as  nonsensical  as  if  I  were  to  freeze  myself 
to  death  on  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  only  that 
people  might  spy  at  me  from  the  country  round  about. 
And  truly,  that  would  be  a  noble  pedestal  for  a  man's 
statue  ! ' 

4  It  is  better  to  sit  here  by  this  fire,'  answered  the 
girl,  blushing,  4  and  be  comfortable  and  contented, 
though  nobody  thinks  about  us.' 

1 1  suppose,'  said  her  father,  after  a  fit  of  musing, 
'  there  is  something  natural  in  what  the  young  man 
says  ;  and  if  my  mind  had  been  turned  that  way,  I 
might  have  felt  just  the  same.  It  is  strange,  wife, 
how  his  talk  has  set  my  head  running  on  things,  tha^ 
are  pretty  certain  never  to  come  to  pass.' 

'  Perhaps  they  may,'  observed  the  wife.  '  Is  the 
man  thinking  what  he  will  do  when  he  is  a  widower  ? ' 

'  No,  no  ! '  cried  he,  repelling  the  idea  with  reproach 
ful  kindness.  '  When  I  think  of  your  death,  Esther,  I 
think  of  mine,  too.  But  I  was  wishing  we  had  a  good 
farm,  in  Bartlett,  or  Bethlehem,  or  Littleton,  or  some 
other  township  round  the  White  Mountains ;  but  not 
where  they  could  tumble  on  our  heads.  I  should  want 
to  stand  well  with  my  neighbors,  and  be  called  'Squire, 
and  sent  to  General  Court,  for  a  term  or  two ;  for  a 
plain,  honest  man  may  do  as  much  good  there  as  a 
lawyer.  And  when  I  should  be  grown  quite  an  old 
man,  and  you  an  old  woman,  so  as  not  to  be  long  apart, 
I  might  die  happy  enough  in  my  bed,  and  leave  you 
all  crying  around  me.  A  slate  gravestone  would  suit 
me  as  well  as  a  marble  one  —  with  just  my  name  and 


THE    AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  109 

age,  and  a  verse  of  a  hymn,  and  something  to  let 
people  know,  that  I  lived  an  honest  man  and  died  a 
Christian.' 

'  There  now ! '  exclaimed  the  stranger ;  '  it  is  our 
nature  to  desire  a  monument,  be  it  slate,  or  marble, 
or  a  pillar  of  granite,  or  a  glorious  memory  in  the 
universal  heart  of  man.' 

4  We  're  in  a  strange  way,  to-night,'  said  the  wife, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  '  They  say  it 's  a  sign  of 
something,  when  folks'  minds  go  a  wandering  so. 
Hark  to  the  children  ! ' 

They  listened  accordingly.  The  younger  children 
had  bcoi;  put  to  bed  in  another  room,  but  with  an  open 
door  between,  so  that  they  could  be  heard  talking  busily 
among  themselves.  One  and  all  seemed  to  have  caught 
the  infection  from  the  fireside  circle,  and  were  outvying 
each  other,  in  wild  wishes,  and  childish  projects  of 
what  they  would  do,  when  they  came  to  be  men  and 
women.  At  length,  a  little  boy,  instead  of  addressing 
his  brothers  and  sisters,  called  out  to  his  mother. 

'  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  wish,  mother,'  cried  he.  '  I 
want  you  and  father  and  grandma'm,  and  all  of  us, 
and  the  stranger  too,  to  start  right  away,  and  go  and 
take  a  drink  out  of  the  basin  of  the  Flume ! ' 

Nobody  could  help  laughing  at  the  child's  notion  of 
leaving  a  warm  bed,  and  dragging  them  from  a  cheer 
ful  fire,  to  visit  the  basin  of  the  Flume  —  a  brook,  which 
tumbles  over  the  precipice,  deep  within  the  Notch. 
The  boy  had  hardly  spoken,  when  a  wagon  rattled 
along  the  road,  and  stopped  a  moment  before  the  door. 
It  appeared  to  contain  two  or  three  men,  who  were 
cheering  their  hearts  with  the  rough  chorus  of  a  song, 


110  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

\vhich  resounded,  in  broken  notes,  between  the  cliffs, 
while  the  singers  hesitated  whether  to  continue  their 
journey,  or  put  up  here  for  the  night.' 

'  Father,'  said  the  girl,  4  they  are  calling  you  by 
name.' 

But  the  good  man  doubted  whether  they  had  really 
called  him,  and  was  unwilling  to  show  himself  too 
solicitous  of  gain,  by  inviting  people  to  patronize  his 
house.  He  therefore  did  not  hurry  to  the  door ;  and 
the  lash  being  soon  applied,  the  travellers  plunged 
into  the  Notch,  still  singing  and  laughing,  though 
their  music  and  mirth  came  back  drearily  from  the 
heart  of  the  mountain. 

4  There,  mother!'  cried  the  boy,  again.  'They'd 
have  given  us  a  ride  to  the  Flume.' 

Again  they  laughed  at  the  child's  pertinacious  fancy 
for  a  night  ramble.  But  it  happened,  that  a  light  cloud 
passed  over  the  daughter's  spirit ;  she  looked  gravely 
into  the  fire,  and  drew  a  breath  that  was  almost  a  sigh. 
It  forced  its  way,  in  spite  of  a  little  struggle  to  repress  it. 
Then  starting  and  blushing,  she  looked  quickly  round  the 
circle,  as  if  they  had  caught  a  glimpse  into  her  bosom. 
The  stranger  asked  what  she  had  been  thinking  of. 

4  Nothing,'  answered  she,  with  a  downcast  smile. 
'  Only  I  felt  lonesome  just  then.' 

4  Oh,  I  have  always  had  a  gift  of  feeling  what  is  in 
other  people's  hearts,'  said  he,  half  seriously.  c  Shall 
I  tell  the  secrets  of  yours  ?  For  I  know  what  to  think, 
when  a  young  girl  shivers  by  a  warm  hearth,  and 
complains  of  lonesomeness  at  her  mother's  side.  Shall 
I  put  these  feelings  into  words  ?  ' 

'They  would  not  be  a  girl's  feelings  any  longer, 


THE   AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  Ill 

if  they  could  be  put  into  words,'  replied  the  mountain 
nymph,  laughing,  but  avoiding  his  eye. 

All  this  was  said  apart.  Perhaps  a  germ  of  love 
was  springing  in  their  hearts,  so  pure  that  it  might 
blossom  in  Paradise,  since  it  could  not  be  matured  on 
earth  ;  for  women  worship  such  gentle  dignity  as  his  ; 
and  the  proud,  contemplative,  yet  kindly  soul  is  oftenest 
captivated  by  simplicity  like  hers.  But,  while  they 
spoke  softly,  and  he  was  watching  xthe  happy  sadness, 
the  lightsome  shadows,  the  shy  yearnings  of  a  maiden's 
nature,  the  wind,  through  the  Notch,  took  a  deeper  and 
drearier  sound.  It  seemed,  as  the  fanciful  stranger 
said,  like  the  choral  strain  of  the  spirits  of  the  blast, 
who,  in  old  Indian  times,  had  their  dwelling  among 
these  mountains,  and  made  their  heights  and  recesses 
a  sacred  region.  There  was  a  wail,  along  the  road, 
as  if  a  funeral  were  passing.  To  chase  away  the 
gloom,  the  family  threw  pine  branches  on  their  fire, 
till  the  dry  leaves  crackled  and  the  flame  arose,  dis 
covering  once  again  a  scene  of  peace  and  humble 
happiness.  The  light  hovered  about  them  fondly,  and 
caressed  them  all.  There  were  the  little  faces  of  the 
children,  peeping  from  their  bed  apart,  and  here  the 
father's  frame  of  strength,  the  mother's  subdued  and 
careful  mien,  the  high-browed  youth,  the  budding  girl, 
and  the  good  old  grandam,  still  knitting  in  the  warmest 
place.  The  aged  woman  looked  up  from  her  task, 
and,  with  fingers  ever  busy,  was  the  next  to  speak. 

'Old  folks  have  their  notions,'  said  she,  'as  well 
as  young  ones.  You  've  been  wishing  and  planning ; 
and  letting  your  heads  run  on  one  thing  and  another, 
till  you  've  set  my  mind  a  wandering  too.  Now  what 


112  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

should  an  old  woman  wish  for,  when  she  can  go  but  a 
step  or  two  before  she  comes  to  her  grave  ?  Children, 
it  will  haunt  me  night  and  day,  till  I  tell  you.' 

'  What  is  it,  mother  ? '  cried  the  husband  and  wife, 
at  once. 

Then  the  old  woman,  with  an  air  of  mystery,  which 
drew  the  circle  closer  round  the  fire,  informed  them 
that  she  had  provided  her  grave-clothes  some  years 
before  —  a  nice  linen  shroud,  a  cap  with  a  muslin  ruff, 
and  every  thing  of  a  finer  sort  than  she  had  worn  since 
her  wedding-day.  But,  this  evening,  an  old  supersti 
tion  had  strangely  recurred  to  her.  It  used  to  be  said, 
in  her  younger  days,  that,  if  any  thing  were  amiss  with 
a  corpse,  if  only  the  ruff  were  not  smooth,  or  the  cap 
did  not  set  right,  the  corpse,  in  the  coffin  and  beneath 
the  clods,  would  strive  to  put  up  its  cold  hands  and 
arrange  it.  The  bare  thought  made  her  nervous. 

'  Don't  talk  so,  grandmother ! '  said  the  girl,  shud 
dering. 

'Now,'  —  continued  the  old  woman,  with  singular 
earnestness,  yet  smiling  strangely  at  her  own  folly,  — 
'  I  want  one  of  you,  my  children  —  when  your  mother 
is  drest,  and  in  the  coffin  —  I  want  one  of  you  to  hold 
a  looking-glass  over  my  face.  Who  knows  but  I  may 
take  a  glimpse  at  myself,  and  see  whether  all 's  right  ? ' 

'  Old  and  young,  we  dream  of  graves  and  monu 
ments,'  murmured  the  stranger  youth.  '  I  wonder 
how  mariners  feel,  when  the  ship  is  sinking,  and  they, 
unknown  and  undistinguished,  are  to  be  buried  together 
in  the  ocean  —  that  wide  and  nameless  sepulchre  ! ' 

For  a  moment,  the  old  woman's  ghastly  conception 
so  engrossed  the  minds  of  her  hearers,  that  a  sound, 


THE    AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  113 

abroad  in  the  night,  rising  like  the  roar  of  a  blast,  had 
grown  broad,  deep,  and  terrible,  before  the  fated  group 
were  conscious  of  it.  The  house,  and  all  within  it, 
trembled ;  the  foundations  of  the  earth  seemed  to  be 
shaken,  as  if  this  awful  sound  were  the  peal  of  the 
last  trump.  Young  and  old  exchanged  one  wild 
glance,  and  remained  an  instant,  pale,  affrighted,  with 
out  utterance,  or  power  to  move.  Then  the  same 
shriek  burst  simultaneously  from  all  their  lips. 

4  The  Slide  !     The  Slide  ! ' 

The  simplest  words  must  intimate,  but  not  portray, 
the  unutterable  horror  of  the  catastrophe.  The  vic 
tims  rushed  from  their  cottage,  and  sought  refuge  in 
what  they  deemed  a  safer  spot  —  where,  in  contem 
plation  of  such  an  emergency,  a  sort  of  barrier  had 
been  reared.  Alas  !  they  had  quitted  their  security, 
and  fled  right  into  the  pathway  of  destruction.  Down 
came  the  whole  side  of  the  mountain,  in  a  cataract  of 
ruin.  Just  before  it  reached  the  house,  the  stream 
broke  into  two  branches  —  shivered  not  a  window 
there,  but  overwhelmed  the  whole  vicinity,  blocked 
up  the  road,  and  annihilated  every  thing  in  its  dread 
ful  course.  Long  ere  the  thunder  of  that  great  Slide 
had  ceased  to  roar  among  the  mountains,  the  mortal 
agony  had  been  endured,  and  the  victims  were  at 
peace.  Their  bodies  were  never  found. 

The  next  morning,  the  light  smoke  was  seen  steal 
ing  from  the  cottage  chimney,  up  the  mountain-side. 
Within,  the  fire  was  yet  smouldering  on  the  hearth, 
and  the  chairs  in  a  circle  round  it,  as  if  the  inhabitants 
had  but  gone  forth  to  view  the  devastation  of  the 
Slide,  and  would  shortly  return,  to  thank  Heaven  for 


114  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

their  miraculous  escape.  All  had  left  separate  tokens, 
by  which  those,  who  had  known  the  family,  were  made 
to  shed  a  tear  for  each.  Who  has  not  heard  their 
name  ?  The  story  had  been  told  far  and  wide,  and 
will  for  ever  be  a  legend  of  these  mountains.  Poets 
have  sung  their  fate. 

There  were  circumstances,  which  led  some  to  sup 
pose  that  a  stranger  had  been  received  into  the  cottage 
on  this  awful  night,  and  had  shared  the  catastrophe  of 
all  its  inmates.  Others  denied  that  there  were  sufficient 
grounds  for  such  a  conjecture.  Woe,  for  the  high-souled 
youth,  with  his  dream  of  Earthly  Immortality !  His 
name  and  person  utterly  unknown;  his  history,  his 
way  of  life,  his  plans,  a  mystery  never  to  be  solved ; 
his  death  and  his  existence,  equally  a  doubt!  Whose 
was  the  agony  of  that  death-moment  ? 


THE    SISTER    YEARS. 

LAST  night,  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  when 
the  Old  Year  was  leaving  her  final  foot-prints  on  the 
borders  of  Time's  empire,  she  found  herself  in  posses 
sion  of  a  few  spare  moments,  and  sat  down  —  of  all 
places  in  the  world  —  on  the  steps  of  our  new  City 
Hall.  The  wintry  moonlight  showed  that  she  looked 
weary  of  body,  and  sad  of  heart,  like  many  another 
wayfarer  of  earth.  Her  garments,  having  been  exposed 
to  much  foul  weather  and  rough  usage,  were  in  very 
ill  condition;  and  as  the  hurry  of  her  journey  had 
never  before  allowed  her  to  take  an  instant's  rest,  her 
shoes  were  so  worn  as  to  be  scarcely  worth  the  mend 
ing.  But,  after  trudging  only  a  little  distance  further, 
this  poor  Old  Year  was  destined  to  enjoy  a  long,  long 
sleep.  I  forgot  to  mention,  that  when  she  seated  her 
self  on  the  steps,  she  deposited  by  her  side  a  very 
capacious  bandbox,  in  which,  as  is  the  custom  among 
travellers  of  her  sex,  she  carried  a  great  deal  of  valu 
able  property.  Besides  this  luggage,  there  was  a  folio 
book  under  her  arm,  very  much  resembling  the  annual 
volume  of  a  newspaper.  Placing  this  volume  across  her 
knees,  and  resting  her  elbows  upon  it,  with  her  fore 
head  in  her  hands,  the  weary,  bedraggled,  world-worn 
Old  Year  heaved  a  heavy  sigh,  and  appeared  to  be 
taking  no  very  pleasant  retrospect  of  her  past  existence. 


116  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

While  she  thus  awaited  the  midnight  knell,  that 
was  to  summon  her  to  the  innumerable  sisterhood  of 
departed  Years,  there  came  a  young  maiden  treading 
lightsomely  on  tiptoe  along  the  street,  from  the  direc 
tion  of  the  Railroad  Depot.  She  was  evidently  a 
stranger,  and  perhaps  had  come  to  town  by  the  evening 
train  of  cars.  There  was  a  smiling  cheerfulness  in 
this  fair  maiden's  face,  which  bespoke  her  fully  confi 
dent  of  a  kind  reception  frem  the  multitude  of  people, 
with  whom  she  was  soon  to  form  acquaintance.  Her 
dress  was  rather  too  airy  for  the  season,  and  was  bedi 
zened  with  fluttering  ribbons  and  other  vanities,  which 
were  likely  soon  to  be  rent  away  by  the  fierce  storms, 
or  to  fade  in  the  hot  sunshine,  amid  which  she  was  to 
pursue  her  changeful  course.  But  still  she  was  a 
wonderfully  pleasant  looking  figure,  and  had  so  much 
promise  and  such  an  indescribable  hopefulness  in  her 
aspect,  that  hardly  any  body  could  meet  her  without 
anticipating  some  very  desirable  thing  —  the  consum 
mation  of  some  long  sought  good  —  from  her  kind 
offices.  A  few  dismal  characters  there  may  be,  here 
and  there  about  the  world,  who  have  so  often  been 
trifled  with  by  young  maidens  as  promising  as  she,  that 
they  have  now  ceased  to  pin  any  faith  upon  the  skirts 
of  the  New  Year.  But,  for  my  own  part,  I  have  great 
faith  in  her ;  and  should  I  live  to  see  fifty  more  such, 
still,  from  each  of  those  successive  sisters,  I  shall 
reckon  upon  receiving  something  that  will  be  worth 
living  for. 

The  New  Year  —  for  this  young  maiden  was  no  less 
a  personage  —  carried  all  her  goods  and  chattels  in  a 
basket  of  no  great  size  or  weight,  which  hung  upon 


THE    SISTER    YEARS.  117 

her  arm.  She  greeted  the  disconsolate  Old  Year  with 
great  affection,  and  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  steps 
of  the  City  Hall,  waiting  for  the  signal  to  begin  her 
rambles  through  the  world.  The  two  were  own  sisters, 
being  both  grand-daughters  of  Time  ;  and  though  one 
looked  so  much'  older  than  the  other,  it  was  rather 
owing  to  hardships  and  trouble  than  to  age,  since  there 
was  but  a  twelvemonth's  difference  between  them. 

'  Well,  my  dear  sister,'  said  the  New  Year,  after 
the  first  salutations,  '  you  look  almost  tired  to  death. 
What  have  you  been  about  during  your  sojourn  in  this 
part  of  Infinite  Space  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  I  have  it  all  recorded  here  in  my  Book  of 
Chronicles,'  answered  the  Old  Year,  in  a  heavy  tone. 
4  There  is  nothing  that  would  amuse  you  ;  and  you  will 
soon  get  sufficient  knowledge  of  such  matters  from  your 
own  personal  experience.  It  is  but  tiresome  reading.' 

Nevertheless,  she  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  folio, 
and  glanced  at  them  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  feeling 
an  irresistible  spell  of  interest  in  her  own  biography, 
although  its  incidents  were  remembered  without  pleas 
ure.  The  volume,  though  she  termed  it  her  Book  of 
Chronicles,  seemed  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than 
the  Salem  Gazette  for  1838 ;  in  the  accuracy  of  which 
journal  this  sagacious  Old  Year  had  so  much  confi 
dence,  that  she  deemed  it  needless  to  record  her  his 
tory  with  her  own  pen. 

4  What  have  you  been  doing  in  the  political  way  : ' 
asked  the  New  Year. 

4  Why,  my  course  here  in  the  United  States,'  said 
the  Old  Year  — 4  though  perhaps  I  ought  to  blush  at 
the  confession  —  my  political  course,  I  must  acknowl- 

VOL.  II.  8 


118  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

edge,  has  been  rather  vacillatory,  sometimes  inclining 
towards  the  Whigs  —  then  causing  the  Administration 
party  to  shout  for  triumph  —  and  now  again  uplifting 
what  seemed  the  almost  prostrate  banner  of  the  Oppo 
sition  ;  so  that  historians  will  hardly  know  what  to 
make  of  me,  in  this  respect.  But  the  Loco  Focos  — ' 

4 1  do  not  like  these  party  nicknames,'  interrupted 
her  sister,  who  seemed  remarkably  touchy  about  some 
points.  '  Perhaps  we  shall  part  in  better  humor,  if  we 
avoid  any  political  discussion.' 

4  With  all  my  heart,'  replied  the  Old  Year,  who 
had  already  been  tormented  half  to  death  with  squab 
bles  of  this  kind.  '  I  care  not  if  the  names  of  Whig 
or  Tory,  with  their  interminable  brawls  about  Banks 
and  the  Sub-Treasury,  Abolition,  Texas,  the  Florida 
War,  and  a  million  of  other  topics  —  which  you  will 
learn  soon  enough  for  your  own  comfort  —  I  care  not, 
I  say,  if  no  whisper  of  these  matters  ever  reaches  my 
ears  again.  Yet  they  have  occupied  so  large  a  share 
of  my  attention,  that  I  scarcely  know  what  else  to  tell 
you.  There  has  indeed  been  a  curious  sort  of  war  on 
the  Canada  border,  where  blood  has  streamed  in  the 
names  of  Liberty  and  Patriotism  ;  but  it  must  remain 
for  some  future,  perhaps  far  distant  Year,  to  tell  whether 
or  no  those  holy  names  have  been  rightfully  invoked. 
Nothing  so  much  depresses  me,  in  my  view  of  mortal 
affairs,  as  to  see  high  energies  wasted,  and  human  life 
and  happiness  thrown  away,  for  ends  that  appear  often 
times  unwise  ;  and  still  oftener  remain  unaccomplished. 
But  the  wisest  people  and  the  best  keep  a  steadfast  faith 
that  the  progress  of  Mankind  is  onward  and  upward, 
and  that  the  toil  and  anguish  of  the  path  serve  to  wear 


THE    SISTER    YEARS.  119 

away  the  imperfections  of  the  Immortal  Pilgrim,  and 
will  be  felt  no  more,  when  they  have  done  their  office.' 

4  Perhaps,'  cried  the  hopeful  New  Year  — i  perhaps 
I  shall  see  that  happy  day  ! ' 

'  I  doubt  whether  it  be  so  close  at  hand,'  answered 
the  Old  Year,  gravely  smiling.  '  You  will  soon  grow 
weary  of  looking  for  that  blessed  consummation,  and 
will  turn  for  amusement  (as  has  frequently  been  my 
own  practice)  to  the  affairs  of  some  sober  little  city, 
like  this  of  Salem.  Here  we  sit,  on  the  steps  of  the 
new  City  Hall,  which  has  been  completed  under  my 
administration ;  and  it  would  make  you  laugh  to  see 
how  the  game  of  politics,  of  which  the  Capitol  at 
Washington  is  the  great  chessboard,  is  here  played 
in  miniature.  Burning  Ambition  finds  its  fuel  here  ; 
here  Patriotism  speaks  boldly  in  the  people's  behalf, 
and  virtuous  Economy  demands  retrenchment  in  the 
emoluments  of  a  lamp-lighter ;  here  the  Aldermen  range 
their  senatorial  dignity  around  the  Mayor's  chair  of 
state,  and  the  Common  Council  feel  that  they  have 
liberty  in  charge.  In  short,  human  weakness  and 
strength,  passion  and  policy,  Man's  tendencies,  his 
aims  and  modes  of  pursuing  them,  his  individual  char 
acter,  and  his  character  in  the  mass,  may  be  studied 
almost  as  well  here  as  on  the  theatre  of  nations ;  and 
with  this  great  advantage,  that,  be  the  lesson  ever  so 
disastrous,  its  Lilliputian  scope  still  makes  the  beholder 
smile.' 

4  Have  you  done  much  for  the  improvement  of  the 
City  ?  '  asked  the  New  Year.  '  Judging  from  what 
little  I  have  seen,  it  appears  to  be  ancient  and  time- 


120  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

'  I  have  opened  the  Railroad,'  said  the  elder  Year, 
'  and  half  a  dozen  times  a  day,  you  will  hear  the  bell 
(which  once  summoned  the  Monks  of  a  Spanish  Con 
vent  to  their  devotions)  announcing  the  arrival  or 
departure  of  the  cars.  Old  Salem  now  wears  a  much 
livelier  expression  than  when  I  first  beheld  her. 
Strangers  rumble  down  from  Boston  by  hundreds  at  a 
time.  New  faces  throng  in  Essex  street.  Railroad 
hacks  and  omnibuses  rattle  over  the  pavements.  There 
is  a  perceptible  increase  of  oyster-shops,  and  other 
establishments  for  the  accommodation  of  a  transitory 
diurnal  multitude.  But  a  more  important  change  awaits 
the  venerable  town.  An  immense  accumulation  of 
musty  prejudices  will  be  carried  off  by  the  free  circu 
lation  of  society.  A  peculiarity  of  character,  of  which 
the  inhabitants  themselves  are  hardly  sensible,  will  be 
rubbed  down  and  worn  away  by  the  attrition  of  foreign 
substances.  Much  of  the  result  will  be  good  ;  there 
will  likewise  be  a  few  things  not  so  good.  Whether 
for  better  or  worse,  there  will  be  a  probable  diminution 
of  the  moral  influence  of  wealth,  and  the  sway  of  an 
aristocratic  class,  which,  from  an  era  far  beyond  my 
memory,  has  held  firmer  dominion  here  than  in  any 
other  New  England  town.' 

The  Old  Year,  having  talked  away  nearly  all  of  her 
little  remaining  breath,  now  closed  her  Book  of  Chron 
icles,  and  was  about  to  take  her  departure.  But  her 
sister  detained  her  a  while  longer,  by  inquiring  the 
contents  of  the  huge  bandbox,  which  she  was  so  pain 
fully  lugging  along  with  her. 

'These  are  merely  a  few  trifles,'  replied  the  Old 
Year,  '  which  I  have  picked  up  in  my  rambles,  and 


THE    SISTER    YEATIS.  121 

am  going  to  deposit,  in  the  receptacle  of  things  past 
and  forgotten.  We  sisterhood  of  Years  never  carry  any 
thing  really  valuable  out  of  the  world  with  us.  Here 
are  patterns  of  most  of  the  fashions  which  I  brought 
into  vogue,  and  which  have  already  lived  out  their 
allotted  term.  You  will  supply  their  place,  with  others 
equally  ephemeral.  Here,  put  up  in  little  China  pots, 
like  rouge,  is  a  considerable  lot  of  beautiful  women's 
bloom,  which  the  disconsolate  fair  ones  owe  me  a 
bitter  grudge  for  stealing.  I  have  likewise  a  quantity 
of  men's  dark  hair,  instead  of  which,  I  have  left  gray 
locks,  or  none  at  all.  The  tears  of  widows  and  other 
afflicted  mortals,  who  have  received  comfort  during 
the  last  twelve  months,  are  preserved  in  some  dozens 
of  essence  bottles,  well  corked  and  sealed.  I  have 
several  bundles  of  love-letters,  eloquently  breathing  an 
eternity  of  burning  passion,  which  grew  cold  and  per 
ished,  almost  before  the  ink  was  dry.  Moreover,  here 
is  an  assortment  of  many  thousand  broken  promises, 
and  other  broken  ware,  all  very  light  and  packed  into 
little  space.  The  heaviest  articles  in  my  possession 
are  a  large  parcel  of  disappointed  hopes,  which,  a  little 
while  ago,  were  buoyant  enough  to  have  inflated  Mr. 
Lauriat's  balloon.' 

4 1  have  a  fine  lot  of  hopes  here  in  my  basket,' 
remarked  the  New  Year.  4  They  are  a  sweet-smelling 
flower  —  a  species  of  rose.' 

4  They  soon  lose  their  perfume,'  replied  the  sombre 
Old  Year.  4  What  else  have  you  brought  to  insure  a 
welcome  from  the  discontented  race  of  mortals  ? ' 

4  Why,  to  say  the  truth,  little  or  nothing  else,'  said 
her  sister,  with  a  smile  — 4  save  a  few  new  Annuals 


122 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


and  Almanacs,  and  some  New  Year's  gifts  for  the 
children.  But  I  heartily  wish  well  to  poor  mortals, 
and  mean  to  do  all  I  can  for  their  improvement  and 
happiness.' 

c  It  is  a  good  resolution,'  rejoined  the  Old  Year  ; 
4  and;  by  the  way,  I  have  a  plentiful  assortment  of  good 
resolutions,  which  have  now  grown  so  stale  and  musty, 
that  I  am  ashamed  to  carry  them  any  further.  Only 
for  fear  that  the  City  authorities  would  send  constable 
Mansfield,  with  a  warrant  after  me,  I  should  toss  them 
into  the  street  at  once.  Many  other  matters  go  to  make 
up  the  contents  of  my  bandbox  ;  but  the  whole  lot  would 
not  fetch  a  single  bid,  even  at  an  auction  of  worn  out 
furniture  ;  and  as  they  are  worth  nothing  either  to  you 
or  any  body  else,  I  need  not  trouble  you  with  a  longer 
catalogue.' 

'And  must  I  also  pick  up  such  worthless  luggage 
in  my  travels  ? '  asked  the  New  Year. 

'  Most  certainly  —  and  well,  if  you  have  no  heavier 
load  to  bear,'  replied  the  other.  '  And  now,  my  dear 
sister,  I  must  bid  you  farewell,  earnestly  advising  and 
exhorting  you  to  expect  no  gratitude  nor  good-will  from 
this  peevish,  unreasonable,  inconsiderate,  ill-intending 
and  worse-behaving  world.  However  warmly  its  inhab 
itants  may  seem  to  welcome  you,  yet,  do  what  you 
may,  and  lavish  on  them  what  means  of  happiness  you 
please,  they  will  still  be  complaining,  still  craving  what 
it  is  not  in  your  power  to  give,  still  looking  forward  to 
some  other  Year  for  the  accomplishment  of  projects 
which  ought  never  to  have  been  formed,  and  which,  if 
successful,  would  only  provide  new  occasions  of  dis 
content.  If  these  ridiculous  people  ever  see  any  thing 


THE    SISTER    YEARS.  123 

tolerable  in  you,  it  will  be  after  you  are  gone  for 
ever.' 

'  But  I,'  cried  the  fresh-hearted  New  Year,  '  I  shall 
try  to  leave  men  wiser  than  I  find  them.  I  will  offer 
them  freely  whatever  good  gifts  Providence  permits 
me  to  distribute,  and  will  tell  them  to  be  thankful  for 
what  they  have,  and  humbly  hopeful  for  more  ;  and 
surely,  if  they  are  not  absolute  fools,  they  will  conde 
scend  to  be  happy,  and  will  allow  me  to  be  a  happy 
Year.  For  my  happiness  must  depend  on  them.' 

'  Alas  for  you,  then,  my  poor  sister ! '  said  the  Old 
Year,  sighing,  as  she  uplifted  her  burthen.  '  We  grand 
children  of  Time  are  born  to  trouble.  Happiness,  they 
say,  dwells  in  the  mansions  of  Eternity ;  but  we  can 
only  lead  mortals  thither,  step  by  step,  with  reluctant 
murmurings,  and  ourselves  must  perish  on  the  threshold. 
But  hark  !  my  task  is  done.' 

The  clock  in  the  tall  steeple  of  Dr.  Emerson's 
church  struck  twelve  ;  there  was  a  response  from  Dr. 
Flint's,  in  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  city ;  and  while 
the  strokes  were  yet  dropping  into  the  air,  the  Old 
Year  either  flitted  or  faded  away  —  and  not  the  wisdom 
and  might  of  Angels,  to  say  nothing  of  the  remorseful 
yearnings  of  the  millions  who  had  used  her  ill,  could 
have  prevailed  with  that  departed  Year  to  return  one 
step.  But  she,  in  the  company  of  Time  and  all  her 
kindred,  must  hereafter  hold  a  reckoning  with  Mankind. 
So  shall  it  be,  likewise,  with  the  maidenly  New  Year, 
who,  as  the  clock  ceased  to  strike,  arose  from  the  steps 
of  the  City  Hall,  and  set  out  rather  timorously  on  her 
earthly  course. 

'  A  happy  New  Year ! '  cried  a  watchman,  eyeing 


124 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


her  figure  very  questionably,  but  without  the  least  sus 
picion  that  he  was  addressing  the  New  Year  in  person. 

'  Thank  you  kindly  ! '  said  the  New  Year ;  and  she 
gave  the  watchman  one  of  the  roses  of  hope  from  her 
basket.  '  May  this  flower  keep  a  sweet  smell,  long 
after  I  have  bidden  you  good-by.' 

Then  she  stept  on  more  briskly  through  the  silent 
streets ;  and  such  as  were  awake  at  the  moment,  heard 
her  footfall,  and  said  —  'The  New  Year  is  come!' 
Wherever  there  was  a  knot  of  midnight  roisterers,  they 
quaffed  her  health.  She  sighed,  however,  to  perceive 
that  the  air  was  tainted  —  as  the  atmosphere  of  this 
world  must  continually  be  —  with  the  dying  breaths  of 
mortals  who  had  lingered  just  long  enough  for  her  to 
bury  them.  But  there  were  millions  left  alive,  to 
rejoice  at  her  coming ;  and  so  she  pursued  her  way 
with  confidence,  strewing  emblematic  flowers  on  the 
doorstep  of  almost  every  dwelling,  which  some  persons 
will  gather  up  and  wear  in  their  bosoms,  and  others 
will  trample  under  foot.  The  Carrier  Boy  can  only 
say  further,  that,  early  this  morning,  she  filled  his 
basket  with  New  Year's  Addresses,  assuring  him  that 
the  whole  City,  with  our  new  Mayor,  and  the  Alder 
men  and  Common  Council  at  its  head,  would  make  a 
general  rush  to  secure  copies.  Kind  Patrons,  will  not 
you  redeem  the  pledge  of  the  NEW  YEAR  ? 


SNOW    FLAKES. 

THERE  is  snow  in  yonder  cold  gray  sky  of  the  morn 
ing ! —  and,  through  the  partially  frosted  window- 
panes,  I  love  to  watch  the  gradual  beginning  of  the 
storm;  A  few  feathery  flakes  are  scattered  widely 
through  the  air,  and  hover  downward  with  uncertain 
flight,  now  almost  alighting  on  the  earth,  now  whirled 
again  aloft  into  remote  regions  of  the  atmosphere. 
These  are  not  the  big  flakes,  heavy  with  moisture, 
which  melt  as  they  touch  the  ground,  and  are  porten 
tous  of  a  soaking  rain.  It  is  to  be,  in  good  earnest, 
a  wintry  storm.  The  two  or  three  people,  visible  on 
the  sidewalks,  have  an  aspect  of  endurance,  a  blue- 
nosed,  frosty  fortitude,  which  is  evidently  assumed  in 
anticipation  of  a  comfortless  and  blustering  day.  By 
nightfall,  or  at  least  before  the  sun  sheds  another 
glimmering  smile  upon  us,  the  street  and  our  little 
garden  will  be  heaped  with  mountain  snow-drifts. 
The  soil,  already  frozen  for  weeks  past,  is  prepared 
to  sustain  whatever  burthen  may  be  laid  upon  it ; 
and,  to  a  northern  eye,  the  landscape  will  lose  its 
melancholy  bleakness  and  acquire  a  beauty  of  its 
own,  when  Mother  Earth,  like  her  children,  shall 
have  put  on  the  fleecy  garb  of  her  winter's  wear. 
The  cloud-spirits  are  slowly  weaving  her  white  mantle. 
As  yet,  indeed,  there  is  barely  a  rime  like  hoar-frost 


126  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

over  the  brown  surface  of  the  street ;  the  withered 
green  of  the  grass-plat  is  still  discernible  ;  and  the 
slated  roofs  of  the  houses  do  but  begin  to  look  gray, 
instead  of  black.  All  the  snow  that  has  yet  fallen 
within  the  circumference  of  my  view,  were  it  heaped 
up  together,  would  hardly  equal  the  hillock  of  a  grave. 
Thus  gradually,  by  silent  and  stealthy  influences,  are 
great  changes  wrought.  These  little  snow-particles, 
which  the  storm-spirit  flings  by  handfuls  through  the 
air,  will  bury  the  great  earth  under  their  accumulated 
mass,  nor  permit  her  to  behold  her  sister  sky  again 
for  dreary  months.  We,  likewise,  shall  lose  sight  of 
our  mother's  familiar  visage,  and  must  content  our 
selves  with  looking  heavenward  the  oftener. 

Now,  leaving  the  storm  to  do  his  appointed  office, 
let  us  sit  down,  pen  in  hand,  by  our  fireside.  Gloomy 
as  it  may  seem,  there  is  an  influence  productive  of 
cheerfulness,  and  favorable  to  imaginative  thought,  in 
the  atmosphere  of  a  snowy  day.  The  native  of  a 
southern  clime  may  woo  the  muse  beneath  the  heavy 
shade  of  summer  foliage,  reclining  on  banks  of  turf, 
while  the  sound  of  singing  birds  and  warbling  rivulets 
chimes  in  with  the  music  of  his  soul.  In  our  brief 
summer,  I  do  not  think,  but  only  exist  in  the  vague 
enjoyment  of  a  dream.  My  hour  of  inspiration  —  if 
that  hour  ever  comes  —  is  when  the  green  log  hisses 
upon  the  hearth,  and  the  bright  flame,  brighter  for  the 
gloom  of  the  chamber,  rustles  high  up  the  chimney, 
and  the  coals  drop  tinkling  down  among  the  growing 
heaps  of  ashes.  When  the  casement  rattles  in  the 
gust,  and  the  snow-flakes  or  the  sleety  rain-drops  pelt 
hard  against  the  window-panes,  that  I  spread  out  my 


SNOW    FLAKES.  127 

sheet  of  paper,  with  the  certainty  that  thoughts  and 
fancies  will  gleam  forth  upon  it,  like  stars  at  twilight, 
or  like  violets  in  May  —  perhaps  to  fade  as  soon. 
However  transitory  their  glow,  they  at  least  shine  amid 
the  darksome  shadow  which  the  clouds  of  the  outward 
sky  fling  through  the  room.  Blessed,  therefore,  and 
reverently  welcomed  by  me,  her  true-born  son,  be 
New  England's  winter,  which  makes  us,  one  and  all, 
the  nurslings  of  the  storm,  and  sings  a  familiar  lullaby 
even  in  the  wildest  shriek  of  the  December  blast. 
Now  look  we  forth  again,  and  see  how  much  of  his 
task  the  storm-spirit  has  done. 

Slow  and  sure !  He  has  the  day,  perchance  the 
week,  before  him,  and  may  take  his  own  time  to 
accomplish  Nature's  burial  in  snow.  A  smooth  mantle 
is  scarcely  yet  thrown  over  the  withered  grass-plat, 
and  the  dry  stalks  of  annuals  still  thrust  themselves 
through  the  white  surface  in  all  parts  of  the  garden. 
The  leafless  rose-bushes  stand  shivering  in  a  shallow 
snow-drift,  looking,  poor  things !  as  disconsolate  as  if 
they  possessed  a  human  consciousness  of  the  dreary 
scene.  This  is  a  sad  time  for  the  shrubs  that  do  not 
perish  with  the  summer ;  they  neither  live  nor  die  ; 
what  they  retain  of  life  seems  but  the  chilling  sense 
of  death.  Very  sad  are  the  flower-shrubs  in  mid 
winter  !  The  roofs  of  the  houses  are  now  all  white, 
save  where  the  eddying  wind  has  kept  them  bare  at 
the  bleak  corners.  To  discern  the  real  intensity  of 
the  storm,  we  must  fix  upon  some  distant  object,  —  as 
yonder  spire,  —  and  observe  how  the  riotous  gust  fights 
with  the  descending  snow  throughout  the  intervening 
space.  Sometimes  the  entire  prospect  is  obscured ; 


128  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

then,  again,  we  have  a  distinct,  but  transient  glimpse 
of  the  tall  steeple,  like  a  giant's  ghost ;  and  now  the 
dense  wreaths  sweep  between,  as  if  demons  were 
flinging  snow-drifts  at  each  other,  in  mid-air.  Look 
next  into  the  street,  where  we  have  an  amusing  parallel 
to  the  combat  of  those  fancied  demons  in  the  upper 
regions.  It  is  a  snow-battle  of  schoolboys.  What  a 
pretty  satire  on  war  and  military  glory  might  be  writ 
ten,  in  the  form  of  a  child's  story,  by  describing  the 
snowball  fights  of  two  rival  schools,  the  alternate 
defeats  and  victories  of  each,  and  the  final  triumph  of 
|  one  party,  or  perhaps  of  neither !  What  pitched 
battles,  worthy  to  be  chanted  in  Homeric  strains ! 
What  storming  of  fortresses,  built  all  of  massive  snow- 
blocks  !  What  feats  of  individual  prowess,  and  em 
bodied  onsets  of  martial  enthusiasm  !  And  when  some 
well  contested  and  decisive  victory  had  put  a  period 
to  the  war,  both  armies  should  unite  to  build  a  lofty 
monument  of  snow  upon  the  battle-field,  and  crown 
it  with  the  victor's  statue,  hewn  of  the  same  frozen 
marble.  In  a  few  days  or  weeks  thereafter,  the 
passer-by  would  observe  a  shapeless  mound  upon  the 
level  common ;  and,  unmindful  of  the  famous  victory, 
would  ask  — '  How  came  it  there  ?  Who  reafed  it  ? 
And  what  means  it  ? '  The  shattered  pedestal  of  many 
a  battle-monument  has  provoked  these  questions,  when 
none  could  answer. 

Turn  we  again  to  the  fireside,  and  sit  musing  there, 
lending  our  ears  to  the  wind,  till  perhaps  it  shall  seem 
like  an  articulate  voice,'  and  dictate  wild  and  airy 
matter  for  the  pen.  Would  it  might  inspire  me  to 
sketch  out  the  personification  of  a  New  England 


SNOW    FLAKES.  129 

winter!  And  that  idea,  if  I  can  seize  the  snow- 
wreathed  figures  that  flit  before  my  fancy,  shall  be 
the  theme  of  the  next  page. 

How  does  Winter  herald  his  approach  ?  By  the 
shrieking  blast  of  latter  autumn,  which  is  Nature's  cry 
of  lamentation,  as  the  destroyer  rushes  among  the 
shivering  groves  where  she  has  lingered,  and  scatters 
the  sear  leaves  upon  the  tempest.  When  that  cry  is 
heard,  the  people  wrap  themselves  in  cloaks,  and  shake 
their  heads  disconsolately,  saying  — '  Winter  is  at 
hand  ! '  Then  the  axe  of  the  wood -cutter  echoes 
sharp  and  diligently  in  the  forest,  —  then  the  coal 
merchants  rejoice,  because  each  shriek  of  Nature  in 
her  agony  adds  something  to  the  price  of  coal  per 
ton  —  then  the  peat-smoke  spreads  its  aromatic  fra 
grance  through  the  atmosphere.  A  few  days  more; 
and  at  eventide,  the  children  look  out  of  the  window, 
and  dimly  perceive  the  flaunting  of  a  snowy  mantle 
in  the  air.  It  is  stern  Winter's  vesture.  They  crowd 
around  the  hearth,  and  cling  to  their  mother's  gown, 
or  press  between  their  father's  knees,  affrighted  by 
the  hollow  roaring  voice,  that  bellows  adown  the  wide 
flue  of  the  chimney.  It  is  the  voice  of  Winter ;  and 
when  parents  and  children  hear  it,  they  shudder  and 
exclaim  — '  Winter  is  come  !  Cold  Winter  has  begun 
his  reign  already  ! '  Now,  throughout  New  England, 
each  hearth  becomes  an  altar,  sending  up  the  smoke 
of  a  continued  sacrifice  to  the  immitigable  deity  who 
tyrannizes  over  forest,  country-side,  and  town.  Wrapt 
in  his  white  mantle,  'his  staff  a  huge  icicle,  his  beard 
and  hair  a  wind-tossed  snow-drift,  he  travels  over  the 
land,  in  the  midst  of  the  northern  blast ;  and  woe  to 


130  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

the  homeless  wanderer  whom  he  finds  upon  his  path ! 
There  he  lies  stark  and  stiff,  a  human  shape  of  ice, 
on  the  spot  where  Winter  overtook  him.  On  strides 
the  tyrant  over  the  rushing  rivers  and  broad  lakes, 
which  turn  to  rock  beneath  his  footsteps.  His  dreary 
empire  is  established ;  all  around  stretches  the  deso 
lation  of  the  Pole.  Yet  not  ungrateful  be  his  New 
England  children  —  (for  Winter  is  our  sire,  though 
a  stern  and  rough  one)  —  not  ungrateful  even  for 
the  severities,  which  have  nourished  our  unyielding 
strength  of  character.  And  let  us  thank  him,  too,  for 
the  sleigh-rides,  cheered  by  the  music  of  merry  bells 
—  for  the  crackling  and  rustling  hearth,  when  the 
ruddy  firelight  gleams  on  hardy  Manhood  and  the 
blooming  cheek  of  Woman  —  for  all  the  home  enjoy 
ments,  and  the  kindred  virtues,  which  flourish  in  a 
frozen  soil.  Not  that  we  grieve,  when,  after  some 
seven  months  of  storm  and  bitter  frost,  Spring,  in  the 
guise  of  a  flower-crowned  virgin,  is  seen  driving  away 
the  hoary  despot,  pelting  him  with  violets  by  the  hand 
ful,  and  strewing  green  grass  on  the  path  behind  him. 
Often,  ere  he  will  give  up  his  empire,  old  Winter 
rushes  fiercely  back,  and  hurls  a  snow-drift  at  the 
shrinking  form  of  Spring ;  yet,  step  by  step,  he  is 
compelled  to  retreat  northward,  and  spends  the  sum 
mer  month  within  the  Arctic  circle. 

Such  fantasies,  intermixed  among  graver  toils  of 
mind,  have  made  the  winter's  day  pass  pleasantly. 
Meanwhile,  the  storm  has  raged  without  abatement, 
and  now,  as  the  brief  afternoon  declines,  is  tossing 
denser  volumes  to  and  fro  about  the  atmosphere. 
On  the  window-sill,  there  is  a  layer  of  snow,  reaching 


SNOW    FLAKES.  131 

half  way  up  the  lowest  pane  of  glass.  The  garden 
is  one  unbroken  bed.  Along  the  street  are  two  or 
three  spots  of  uncovered  earth,  where  the  gust  has 
whirled  away  the  snow,  heaping  it  elsewhere  to  the 
fence-tops,  or  piling  huge  banks  against  the  doors  of 
houses.  A  solitary  passenger  is  seen,  now  striding 
mid-leg  deep  across  a  drift,  now  scudding  over  the 
bare  ground,  while  his  cloak  is  swollen  with  the  wind. 
And  now  the  jingling  of  bells,  a  sluggish  sound,  re 
sponsive  to  the  horse's  toilsome  progress  through  the 
unbroken  drifts,  announces  the  passage  of  a  sleigh, 
with  a  boy  clinging  behind,  and  ducking  his  head  to 
escape  detection  by  the  driver.  Next  comes  a  sledge, 
laden  with  wood  for  some  unthrifty  housekeeper,  whom 
winter  has  surprised  at  a  cold  hearth.  But  what  dismal 
equipage  now  struggles  along  the  uneven  street  ?  A 
sable  hearse,  bestrewn  with  snow,  is  bearing  a  dead 
man  through  the  storm  to  his  frozen  bed.  Oh,  how 
dreaiy  is  a  burial  in  winter,  when  the  bosom  of  Mother 
Earth  has  no  warmth  for  her  poor  child ! 

Evening  —  the  early  eve  of  December  —  begins  to 
spread  its  deepening  veil  over  the  comfortless  scene ; 
the  firelight  gradually  brightens,  and  throws  my 
flickering  shadow  upon  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  the 
chamber ;  but  still  the  storm  rages  and  rattles  against 
the  windows.  Alas  !  I  shiver,  and  think  it  time  to  be 
disconsolate.  But,  taking  a  farewell  glance  at  dead 
nature  in  her  shroud,  I  perceive  a  flock  of  snow-birds, 
skimming  lightsomely  through  the  tempest,  and  flitting 
from  drift  to  drift,  as  sportively  as  swallowrs  in  the 
delightful  prime  of  summer.  Whence  come  they  ? 
Where  do  they  build  their  nests,  and  seek  their  food  ? 


132  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Why,  having  airy  wings,  do  they  not  follow  summer 
around  the  earth,  instead  of  making  themselves  the 
playmates  of  the  storm,  and  fluttering  on  the  dreary 
verge  of  -the  winter's  eve  ?  I  know  not  whence  they 
come,  nor  why ;  yet  my  spirit  has  been  cheered  by 
that  wandering  flock  of  snow-birds. 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS. 

RAMBLING  on  foot  in  the  spring  of  my  life  and  the 
summer  of  the  year,  I  came  one  afternoon  to  a  point 
which  gave  me  the  choice  of  three  directions.  Straight 
before  me,  the  main  road  extended  its  dusty  length  to 
Boston  ;  on  the  left  a  branch  went  towards  the  sea, 
and  would  have  lengthened  my  journey  a  trifle,  of 
twenty  or  thirty  miles ;  while,  by  the  right  hand  path, 
I  might  have  gone  over  hills  and  lakes  to  Canada, 
visiting  in  my  way  the  celebrated  town  of  Stamford. 
On  a  level  spot  of  grass,  at  the  foot  of  the  guide-post, 
appeared  an  object,  which,  though  locomotive  on  a  dif 
ferent  principle,  reminded  me  of  Gulliver's  portable 
mansion  among  the  Brobdignags.  It  was  a  huge  cov 
ered  wagon,  or,  more  properly,  a  small  house  on 
wheels,  with  a  door  on  one  side  and  a  window  shaded 
by  green  blinds  on  the  other.  Two  horses,  munching 
provender  out  of  the  baskets  which  muzzled  them, 
were  fastened  near  the  vehicle :  a  delectable  sound 
of  music  proceeded  from  the  interior ;  and  I  imme 
diately  conjectured  that  this  was  some  itinerant  show, 
halting  at  the  confluence  of  the  roads  to  intercept 
such  idle  travellers  as  myself.  A  shower  had  long 
been  climbing  up  the  western  sky,  and  now  hung  so 
blackly  over  my  onward  path  that  it  was  a  point  of 
wisdom  to  seek  shelter  here. 

VOL.    II.  9 


134  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

4  Halloo  !  Who  stands  guard  here  ?  Is  the  door 
keeper  asleep  ? '  cried  I,  approaching  a  ladder  of  two 
or  three  steps  which  was  let  down  from  the  wagon. 

The  music  ceased  at  my  summons,  and  there  ap 
peared  at  the  door,  not  the  sort  of  figure  that  I  had 
mentally  assigned  to  the  wandering  show-man,  but  a 
most  respectable  old  personage,  whom  I  was  sorry  to 
have  addressed  in  so  free  a  style.  He  wore  a  snuff- 
colored  coat  and  small-clothes,  with  white-top  boots, 
and  exhibited  the  mild  dignity  of  aspect  and  manner 
which  may  often  be  noticed  in  aged  schoolmasters, 
and  sometimes  in  deacons,  selectmen,  or  other  poten 
tates  of  that  kind.  A  small  piece  of  silver  was  my 
passport  within  his  premises,  where  I  found  only  one 
other  person,  hereafter  to  be  described. 

4  This  is  a  dull  day  for  business,'  said  the  old  gen 
tleman,  as  he  ushered  me  in ;  '  but  I  merely  tarry 
here  to  refresh  the  cattle,  being  bound  for  the  camp- 
meeting  at  Stamford.' 

Perhaps  the  movable  scene  of  this  narrative  is  still 
peregrinating  New  England,  and  may  enable  the 
reader  to  test  the  accuracy  of  my  description.  The 
spectacle  —  for  I  will  not  use  the  unworthy  term  of 
puppet-show  —  consisted  of  a  multitude  of  little  people 
assembled  on  a  miniature  stage.  Among  them  were 
artisans  of  every  kind,  in  the  attitudes  of  their  toil, 
and  a  group  of  fair  ladies  and  gay  gentlemen  stand 
ing  ready  for  the  dance ;  a  company  of  foot  soldiers 
formed  a  line  across  the  stage,  looking  stern,  grim, 
and  terrible  enough,  to  make  it  a  pleasant  considera 
tion  that  they  were  but  three  inches  high;  and  con 
spicuous  above  the  whole  was  seen  a  Merry  Andrew, 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  135 

in  the  pointed  cap  and  motley  coat  of  his  profession. 
All  the  inhabitants  of  this  mimic  world  were  motion 
less,  like  the  figures  in  a  picture,  or  like  that  people 
who  one  moment  were  alive  in  the  midst  of  their 
business  and  delights,  and  the  next  were  transformed 
to  statues,  preserving  an  eternal  semblance  of  labor 
that  was  ended,  and  pleasure  that  could  be  felt  no 
more.  Anon,  however,  the  old  gentleman  turned 
the  handle  of  a  barrel  organ,  the  first  note  of  which 
produced  a  most  enlivening  effect  upon  the  figures, 
and  awoke  them  all  to  their  proper  occupations  and 
amusements.  By  the  selfsame  impulse  the  tailor 
plied  his  needle,  the  blacksmith's  hammer  descended 
upon  the  anvil,  and  the  dancers  whirled  away  on 
feathery  tiptoes ;  the  company  of  soldiers  broke  into 
platoons,  retreated  from  the  stage,  and  were  succeeded 
by  a  troop  of  horse,  who  came  prancing  onward  with 
such  a  sound  of  trumpets  and  trampling  of  hoofs,  as 
might  have  startled  Don  Quixote  himself;  while  an 
old  toper,  of  inveterate  ill  habits,  uplifted  his  black 
bottle  and  took  off  a  hearty  swig.  Meantime  the 
Merry  Andrew  began  to  caper  and  turn  somersets, 
shaking  his  sides,  nodding  his  head,  and  winking  his 
eyes  in  as  life-like  a  manner  as  if  he  were  ridiculing 
the  nonsense  of  all  human  affairs,  and  making  fun  of 
the  whole  multitude  beneath  him.  At  length  the  old 
magician  (for  I  compared  the  show-man  to  Prospero, 
entertaining  his  guests  with  a  masque  of  shadows) 
paused  that  I  might  give  utterance  to  my  wonder. 

'  What   an   admirable    piece  of  work  is  this ! '   ex 
claimed  I,  lifting  up  my  hands  in  astonishment. 

Indeed,  I  liked  the  spectacle,  and  was  tickled  with 


136  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  old  man's  gravity  as  he  presided  at  it,  for  I  had 
none  of  that  foolish  wisdom  which  reproves  every 
occupation  that  is  not  useful  in  this  world  of  vanities. 
If  there  be  a  faculty  which  I  possess  more  perfectly 
than  most  men,  it  is  that  of  throwing  myself  mentally 
into  situations  foreign  to  my  own,  and  detecting,  with 
a  cheerful  eye,  the  desirable  circumstances  of  each. 
I  could  have  envied  the  life  of  this  gray-headed  show 
man,  spent  as  it  had  been  in  a  course  of  safe  and 
pleasurable  adventure,  in  driving  his  huge  vehicle 
sometimes  through  the  sands  of  Cape  Cod,  and  some 
times  over  the  rough  forest  roads  of  the  north  and 
east,  and  halting  now  on  the  green  before  a  village 
meeting-house,  and  now  in  a  paved  square  of  the 
metropolis.  How  often  must  his  heart  have  been 
gladdened  by  the  delight  of  children,  as  they  viewed 
these  animated  figures !  or  his  pride  indulged,  by 
haranguing  learnedly  to  grown  men  on  the  mechani 
cal  powers  which  produced  such  wonderful  effects ! 
or  his  gallantry  brought  into  play  (for  this  is  an  attri 
bute  which  such  grave  men  do  not  lack),  by  the  visits 
of  pretty  maidens  !  And  then  with  how  fresh  a  feel 
ing  must  he  return,  at  intervals,  to  his  own  peculiar 
home  ! 

'  I  would  I  were  assured  of  as  happy  a  life  as  his,' 
thought  I. 

Though  the  show-man's  wagon  might  have  accom 
modated  fifteen  or  twenty  spectators,  it  now  contained 
only  himself  and  me,  and  a  third  person  at  whom  I 
threw  a  glance  on  entering.  He  was  a  neat  and  trim 
young  man  of  two  or  three  and  twenty  ;  his  drab  hat, 
and  green  frock  coat  with  velvet  collar,  were  smart, 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  137 

though  no  longer  new ;  while  a  pair  of  green  specta 
cles,  that  seemed  needless  to  his  brisk  little  eyes,  gave 
him  something  of  a  scholarlike  and  literary  air. 
After  allowing  me  a  sufficient  time  to  inspect  the 
puppets,  he  advanced  with  a  bow,  and  drew  my  atten 
tion  to  some  books  in  a  corner  of  the  wagon.  These 
he  forthwith  began  to  extol,  with  an  amazing  volubil 
ity  of  well-sounding  words,  and  an  ingenuity  of 
praise  that  won  him  my  heart,  as  being  myself  one 
of  the  most  merciful  of  critics.  Indeed  his  stock 
required  some  considerable  powers  of  commendation 
in  the  salesman ;  there  were  several  ancient  friends 
of  mine,  the  novels  of  those  happy  days  when  my 
affections  wavered  between  the  Scottish  Chiefs  and 
Thomas  Thumb  ;  besides  a  few  of  later  date,  whose 
merits  had  not  been  acknowledged  by  the  public.  I 
was  glad  to  find  that  dear  little  venerable  volume,  the 
New  England  Primer,  looking  as  antique  as  ever, 
though  in  its  thousandth  new  edition ;  a  bundle  of 
superannuated  gilt  picture-books  made  such  a  child 
of  me,  that,  partly  for  the  glittering  covers,  and 
partly  for  the  fairy  tales  within,  I  bought  the  whole ; 
and  an  assortment  of  ballads  and  popular  theatrical 
songs  drew  largely  on  my  purse.  To  balance  these 
expenditures,  I  meddled  neither  with  sermons,  nor 
science,  nor  morality,  though  volumes  of  each  were 
there  ;  nor  with  a  Life  of  Franklin  in  the  coarsest  of 
paper,  but  so  showily  bound  that  it  was  emblematical 
of  the  Doctor  himself,  in  the  court  dress  which  he 
refused  to  wear  at  Paris  ;  nor  with  Webster's  spelling- 
book,  nor  some  of  Byron's  minor  poems,  nor  half  a 
dozen  little  testaments  at  twenty-five  cents  each. 


138  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Thus  far  the  collection  might  have  been  swept  from 
some  great  bookstore,  or  picked  up  at  an  evening 
auction  room;  but  there,  was  one  small  blue  covered, 
pamphlet,  which  the  pedler  handed  me  with  so  pecu 
liar  an  air,  that  I  purchased  it  immediately  at  his  own 
price ;  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  the  thought  struck 
me,  that  I  had  spoken  face  to  face  with  the  veritable 
author  of  a  printed  book.  The  literary  man  now 
evinced  a  great  kindness  for  me,  and  I  ventured  to 
inquire  which  way  he  was  travelling. 

4  Oh,'  said  he,  '  I  keep  company  with  this  old  gen 
tleman  here,  and  we  are  moving  now  towards  the 
camp-meeting  at  Stamford.' 

He  then  explained  to  me,  that  for  the  present  season 
he  had  rented  a  corner  of  the  wagon  as  a  bookstore, 
which,  as  he  wittily  observed,  was  a  true  Circu 
lating  Library,  since  there  were  few  parts  of  the 
country  where  it  had  not  gone  its  rounds.  I  approved 
of  the  plan  exceedingly,  and  began  to  sum  up  within 
my  mind  the  many  uncommon  felicities  in  the  life  of 
a  book  pedler,  especially  when  his  character  resem 
bled  that  of  the  individual  before  me.  At  a  high 
rate  was  to  be  reckoned  the  daily  and  hourly  enjoy 
ment  of  such  interviews  as  the  present,  in  which  he 
seized  upon  the  admiration  of  a  passing  stranger,  and 
made  him  aware  that  a  man  of  literary  taste,  and 
even  of  literary  achievement,  was  travelling  the  coun 
try  in  a  show-man's  wagon.  A  more  valuable,  yet 
not  infrequent  triumph,  might  be  won  in  his  conversa 
tions  with  some  elderly  clergyman,  long  vegetating  in 
a  rocky,  woody,  watery  back  settlement  of  New  Eng 
land,  who,  as  he  recruited  his  library  from  the  pedler's 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  139 

stock  of  sermons,  would  exhort  him  to  seek  a  college 
education  and  become  the  first  scholar  in  his  class. 
Sweeter  and  prouder  yet  would  be  his  sensations, 
when,  talking  poetry  while  he  sold  spelling-books,  he 
should  charm  the  mind,  and  haply  touch  the  heart  of 
a  fair  country  schoolmistress,  herself  an  unhonored 
poetess,  a  wearer  of  blue  stockings  which  none  but 
himself  took  pains  to  look  at.  But  the  scene  of  his 
completest  glory  would  be  when  the  wagon  had  halted 
for  the  night,  and  his  stock  of  books  was  transferred 
to  some  crowded  bar-room.  Then  would  he  recom 
mend  to  the  multifarious  company,  whether  traveller 
from  the  city,  or  teamster  from  the  hills,  or  neighbor 
ing  squire,  or  the  landlord  himself,  or  his  loutish 
hostler,  works  suited  to  each  particular  taste  and 
capacity ;  proving,  all  the  while,  by  acute  criticism 
and  profound  remark,  that  the  lore  in  his  books  was 
even  exceeded  by  that  in  his  brain. 

Thus  happily  would  he  traverse  the  land ;  some 
times  a  herald  before  the  march  of  Mind  ;  sometimes 
walking  arm  in  arm  with  awful  Literature  ;  and 
reaping  every  where  a  harvest  of  real  and  sensible 
popularity,  which  the  secluded  bookworms,  by  whose 
toil  he  lived,  could  never  hope  for. 

'  If  ever  I  meddle  with  literature,'  thought  I,  fixing 
myself  in  adamantine  resolution,  '  it  shall  be  as  a 
travelling  bookseller.' 

Though  it  was  still  mid-afternoon,  the  air  had  now 
grown  dark  about  us,  and  a  few  drops  of  rain  came 
down  upon  the  roof  of  our  vehicle,  pattering  like  the 
feet  of  birds  that  had  flown  thither  to  rest.  A  sound 
of  pleasant  voices  made  us  listen,  and  there  soon 


140  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

appeared  half-way  up  the  ladder  the  pretty  person  of  a 
young  damsel,  whose  rosy  face  was  so  cheerful,  that 
even  amid  the  gloomy  light  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun 
beams  were  peeping  under  her  bonnet.  We  next  saw 
the  dark  and  handsome  features  of  a  young  man, 
who,  with  easier  gallantry  than  might  have  been  ex 
pected  in.  the  heart  of  Yankee-land,  was  assisting  her 
into  the  wagon.  It  became  immediately  evident  to 
us,  when  the  two  strangers  stood  within  the  door,  that 
they  were  of  a  profession  kindred  to  those  of  my 
companions ;  and  1  was  delighted  with  the  more  than 
hospitable,  the  even  paternal  kindness,  of  the  old 
show-man's  manner,  as  he  welcomed  them  ;  while  the 
man  of  literature  hastened  to  lead  the  merry-eyed  girl 
to  a  seat  on  the  long  bench. 

1  You  are  housed  but  just  in  time,  my  young  friends,' 
said  the  master  of  the  wagon.  l  The  sky  would  have 
been  down  upon  you  within  five  minutes.' 

The  young  man's  reply  marked  him  as  a  foreigner, 
not  by  any  variation  from  the  idiom  and  accent  of 
good  English,  but  because  he  spoke  with  more  caution 
and  accuracy,  than  if  perfectly  familiar  with  the  lan 
guage. 

4  We  knew  that  a  shower  was  hanging  over  us,' 
said  he,  '  and  consulted  whether  it  were  best  to  enter 
the  house  on  the  top  of  yonder  hill,  but  seeing  your 
wagon  in  the  road ' 

4  We  agreed  to  come  hither,'  interrupted  the  girl, 
with  a  smile,  c  because  we  should  be  more  at  home  in 
a  wandering  house  like  this.' 

I,  meanwhile,  with  many  a  wild  and  undetermined 
fantasy,  was  narrowly  inspecting  these  two  doves  that 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  141 

had  flown  into  our  ark.  The  young  man,  tall,  agile, 
and  athletic,  wore  a  mass  of  black  shining  curls  clus 
tering  round  a  dark  and  vivacious  countenance, 
which,  if  it  had  not  greater  expression,  was  at  least 
oiore  active,  and  attracted  readier  notice,  than  the 
quiet  faces  of  our  countrymen.  At  his  first  appear 
ance,  he  had  been  laden  with  a  neat  mahogany  box, 
of  about  two  feet  square,  but  very  light  in  proportion 
to  Us  size,  which  he  had  immediately  unstrapped  from 
his  shoulders  and  deposited  on  the  floor  of  the  wagon. 

Tae  girl  had  nearly  as  fair  a  complexion  as  our 
own  beauties,  and  a  brighter  one  than  most  of  them  ; 
the  lightness  of  her  figure,  which  seemed  calculated 
to  traverse  the  whole  world  without  weariness,  suited 
well  with  the  glowing  cheerfulness  of  her  face  ;  and 
her  gay  attire,  combining  the  rainbow  hues  of  crimson, 
green,  and  a  deep  orange,  was  as  proper  to  her  light 
some  aspect  as  if  she  had  been  born  in  it.  This  gay 
stranger  was  appropriately  burdened  with  that  mirth- 
inspiring  instrument,  the  fiddle,  which  her  companion 
took  from  her  hands,  and  shortly  began  the  process 
of  tuning.  Neither  of  us  —  the  previous  company  of 
the  wagon  —  needed  to  inquire  their  trade  ;  for  this 
could  be  no  mystery  to  frequenters  of  brigade  mus 
ters,  ordinations,  cattle  shows,  commencements,  and 
other  festal  meetings  in  our  sober  land  ;  and  there  is 
a  dear  friend  of  mine,  who  will  smile  when  this  page 
recalls  to  his  memory  a  chivalrous  deed  performed  by 
us,  in  rescuing  the  show-box  of  such  a  couple  from  a 
mob  of  great  double-fisted  countrymen. 

1  Come,'  said  I  to  the  damsel  of  gay  attire,  '  shall 
we  visit  all  the  wonders  of  the  world  together  ? ' 


142  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

She  understood  the  metaphor  at  once  ;  though  in 
deed  it  would  not  much  have  troubled  me,  if  she  had 
assented  to  the  literal  meaning  of  my  words.  The 
mahogany  box  was  placed  in  a  proper  position,  and  1 
peeped  in  through  its  small  round  magnifying  wir> 
dow,  while  the  girl  sat  by  my  side,  and  gave  short 
descriptive  sketches,  as  one  after  another  the  pictures 
were  unfolded  to  my  view.  We  visited  together,  at 
least  our  imaginations  did,  full  many  a  famous  city,  in 
the  streets  of  which  I  had  long  yearned  to  tread  ; 
once,  I  remember,  we  were  in  the  harbor  of  Barce 
lona,  gazing  town  wards ;  next,  she  bore  me  through 
the  air  to  Sicily,  and  bade  me  look  up  at  blazing 
jEtna ;  then  we  took  wing  to  Venice,  and  sat  in  a 
gondola  beneath  the  arch  of  the  Rialto ;  and  anon  she 
set  me  down  among  the  thronged  spectators  at  the 
coronation  of  Napoleon.  But  there  was  one  scene, 
its  locality  she  could  not  tell,  which  charmed  my 
attention  longer  than  all  those  gorgeous  palaces  and 
churches,  because  the  fancy  haunted  me,  that  I  my 
self,  the  preceding  summer,  had  beheld  just  such  an 
humble  meetinghouse,  in  just  such  a  pine-surrounded 
nook,  among  our  own  green  mountains.  All  these 
pictures  were  tolerably  executed,  though  far  inferior 
to  the  girl's  touches  of  description  ;  nor  was  it  easy  to 
comprehend,  how  in  so  few  sentences,  and  these,  as  I 
supposed,  in  a  language  foreign  to  her,  she  contrived 
to  present  an  airy  copy  of  each  varied  scene.  When 
we  had  travelled  through  the  vast  extent  of  the  ma 
hogany  box,  I  looked  into  my  guide's  face. 

4  Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid  ? '  inquired 
I,  in  the  words  of  an  old  song. 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  143 

1  Ah,'  said  the  gay  damsel,  '  you  might  as  well  ask 
where  the  summer  wind  is  going.  We  are  wanderers 
here,  and  there,  and  every  where.  Wherever  there  is 
mirth,  our  merry  hearts  are  drawn  to  it.  To-day,  in 
deed,  the  people  have  told  us  of  a  great  frolic  and 
festival  in  these  parts ;  so  perhaps  we  may  be  needed 
at  what  you  call  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford.' 

Then  in  my  happy  youth,  and  while  her  pleasant 
voice  yet  sounded  in  my  ears,  I  sighed ;  for  none  but 
myself,  I  thought,  should  have  been  her  companion  in 
a  life  which  seemed  to  realize  my  own  wild  fancies, 
cherished  all  through  visionary  boyhood  to  that  hour. 
To  these  two  strangers,  the  world  was  in  its  golden 
age,  not  that  indeed  it  was  less  dark  and  sad  than 
ever,  but  because  its  weariness  and  sorrow  had  no 
community  with  their  ethereal  nature.  Wherever  they 
might  appear  in  their  pilgrimage  of  bliss,  Youth  would 
echo  back  their  gladness,  care-stricken  Maturity  would 
rest  a  moment  from  its  toil,  and  Age,  tottering  among 
the  graves,  would  smile  in  withered  joy  for  their  sakes. 
The  lonely  cot,  the  narrow  and  gloomy  street,  the 
sombre  shade,  would  catch  a  passing  gleam  like  that 
now  shining  on  ourselves,  as  these  bright  spirits  wan 
dered  by.  Blessed  pair,  whose  happy  home  was 
throughout  all  the  earth !  I  looked  at  my  shoulders, 
and  thought  them  broad  enough  to  sustain  those  pic 
tured  towns  and  mountains  ;  mine,  too,  was  an  elastic 
foot,  as  tireless  as  the  wing  of  the  bird  of  paradise  ; 
mine  was  then  an  untroubled  heart,  that  would  have 
gone  singing  on  its  delightful  way. 

4  Oh  maiden ! '  said  I  aloud,  '  why  did  you  not  come 
hither  alone  ?  ' 


144  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

While  the  merry  girl  and  myself  were  busy  with 
the  show-box,  the  unceasing  rain  had  driven  another 
wayfarer  into  the  wagon.  He  seemed  pretty  nearly 
of  the  old  show-man's  age,  but  much  smaller,  leaner, 
and  more  withered  than  he,  and  less  respectably  clad 
in  a  patched  suit  of  gray  ;  withal,  he  had  a  thin, 
shrewd  countenance,  and  a  pair  of  diminutive  gray 
eyes,  which  peeped  rather  too  keenly  out  of  their 
puckered  sockets.  This  old  fellow  had  been  joking 
with  the  show-man,  in  a  manner  which  intimated  pre 
vious  acquaintance  ;  but  perceiving  that  the  damsel 
and  I  had  terminated  our  affairs,  he  drew  forth  a  folded 
document,  and  presented  it  to  me.  As  I  had  antici 
pated,  it  proved  to  be  a  circular,  written  in  a  very  fair 
and  legible  hand,  and  signed  by  several  distinguished 
gentlemen  whom  I  had  never  heard  of,  stating  that  the 
bearer  had  encountered  every  variety  of  misfortune, 
and  recommending  him  to  the  notice  of  all  charitable 
people.  Previous  disbursements  had  left  me  no  more 
than  a  five  dollar  bill,  out  of  which,  however,  I  offered 
to  make  the  beggar  a  donation,  provided  he  would  give 
me  change  for  it.  The  object  of  my  beneficence 
looked  keenly  in  my  face,  and  discerned  that  I  had 
none  of  that  abominable  spirit,  characteristic  though  it 
be,  of  a  full-blooded  Yankee,  which  takes  pleasure  in 
detecting  every  little  harmless  piece  of  knavery. 

4  Why,  perhaps,'  said  the  ragged  old  mendicant,  l  if 
the  bank  is  in  good  standing,  I  can't  say  but  I  may 
have  enough  about  me  to  change  your  bill.' 

'  It  is  a  bill  of  the  Suffolk  Bank,'  said  I,  '  and  better 
than  the  specie.' 

As  the  beggar  had  nothing  to  object,  he  now  pro- 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  145 

duced  a  small  buff  leather  bag,  tied  up  carefully  with 
a  shoe-string.  When  this  was  opened,  there  appeared 
a  very  comfortable  treasure  of  silver  coins,  of  all  sorts 
and  sizes ;  and  I  even  fancied  that  I  saw,  gleaming 
among  them,  the  golden  plumage  of  that  rare  bird  in 
our  currency,  the  American  Eagle.  In  this  precious 
heap  was  my  bank  note  deposited,  the  rate  of  exchange 
being  considerably  against  me.  His  wants  being  thus 
relieved,  the  destitute  man  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  an 
old  pack  of  greasy  cards,  which  had  probably  contrib 
uted  to  fill  the  buff  leather  bag,  in  more  ways  than 
one. 

'  Come,'  said  he,  CI  spy  a  rare  fortune  in  your  face, 
and  for  twenty-five  cents  more,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.' 

I  never  refuse  to  take  a  glimpse  into  futurity  ;  so, 
after  shuffling  the  cards,  and  when  the  fair  damsel  had 
cut  them,  I  dealt  a  portion  to  the  prophetic  beggar. 
Like  others  of  his  profession,  before  predicting  the 
shadowy  events  that  were  moving  on  to  meet  me,  he 
gave  proof  of  his  preternatural  science,  by  describing 
scenes  through  which  I  had  already  passed.  Here  let 
me  have  credit  for  a  sober  fact.  When  the  old  man 
had  read  a  page  in  his  book  of  fate,  he  bent  his  keen 
gray  eyes  on  mine,  and  proceeded  to  relate,  in  all  its 
minute  particulars,  what  was  then  the  most  singular 
event  of  my  life.  It  was  one  which  I  had  no  purpose 
to  disclose,  till  the  general  unfolding  of  all  secrets  ; 
nor  would  it  be  a  much  stranger  instance  of  inscruta 
ble  knowledge,  or  fortunate  conjecture,  if  the  beggar 
were  to  meet  me  in  the  street  to-day,  and  repeat,  word 
for  word,  the  page  which  I  have  here  written.  The 
fortune-teller,  after  predicting  a  destiny  which  time 


146  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

seems  loth  to  make  good,  put  up  his  cards,  secreted 
his  treasure  bag,  and  began  to  converse  with  the  other 
occupants  of  the  wagon. 

c  Well,  old  friend,'  said  the  show-man,  '  you  have 
not  yet  told  us  which  way  your  face  is  turned  this 
afternoon.' 

4 1  am  taking  a  trip  northward,  this  warm  weather,' 
replied  the  conjuror,  '  across  the  Connecticut  first,  and 
then  up  through  Vermont,  and  maybe  into  Canada 
before  the  fall.  But  I  must  stop  and  see  the  breaking 
up  of  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford.' 

I  began  to  think  that  all  the  vagrants  in  New  Eng 
land  were  converging  to  the  camp-meeting,  and  had 
made  this  wagon  their  rendezvous  by  the  way.  The 
show-man  now  proposed,  that,  when  the  shower  was 
over,  they  should  pursue  the  road  to  Stamford  together, 
it  being  sometimes  the  policy  of  these  people  to  form  a 
sort  of  league  and  confederacy. 

'  And  the  young  lady  too,'  observed  the  gallant  bibli- 
opolist,  bowing  to  her  profoundly,  4  and  this  foreign 
gentleman,  as  I  understand,  are  on  a  jaunt  of  pleasure 
to  the  same  spot.  It  would  add  incalculably  to  my 
own  enjoyment,  and  I  presume  to  that  of  my  colleague 
and  his  friend,  if  they  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  join 
our  party.' 

This  arrangement  met  with  approbation  on  all 
hands,  nor  were  any  of  those  concerned  more  sensi 
ble  of  its  advantages  than  myself,  who  had  no  title  to 
be  included  in  it.  Having  already  satisfied  myself 
as  to  the  several  modes  in  which  the  four  others  at 
tained  felicity,  I  next  set  my  mind  at  work  to  discover 
what  enjoyments  were  peculiar  to  the  old  '  Straggler,' 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  147 

as  the  people  of  the  country  would  have  termed  the 
wandering  mendicant  and  prophet.  As  he  pretended 
to  familiarity  with  the  Devil,  so  I  fancied  that  he  was 
fitted  to  pursue  and  take  delight  in  his  way  of  life,  by 
possessing  some  of  the  mental  and  moral  character 
istics,  the  lighter  and  more  comic  ones,  of  the  Devil  in 
popular  stories.  Among  them  might  be  reckoned  a 
love  of  deception  for  its  own  sake,  a  shrewd  eye  and 
keen  relish  for  human  weakness  and  ridiculous  infir 
mity,  and  the  talent  of  petty  fraud.  Thus  to  this  old 
man  there  would  be  pleasure  even  in  the  conscious 
ness  so  insupportable  to  some  minds,  that  his  whole 
life  was  a  cheat  upon  the  world,  and  that,  so  far  as  he 
was  concerned  with  the  public,  his  little  cunning  had 
the  upper  hand  of  its  united  wisdom.  Every  day 
would  furnish  him  with  a  succession  of  minute  and 
pungent  triumphs  ;  as  when,  for  instance,  his  impor 
tunity  wrung  a  pittance  out  of  the  heart  of  a  miser,  or 
when  my  silly  good  nature  transferred  a  part  of  my 
slender  purse  to  his  plump  leather  bag ;  or  when  some 
ostentatious  gentleman  should  throw  a  coin  to  the 
ragged  beggar  who  was  richer  than  himself ;  or  when, 
though  he  would  not  always  be  so  decidedly  diabolical, 
his  pretended  wants  should  make  him  a  sharer  in  the 
scanty  living  of  real  indigence.  And  then  what  an 
inexhaustible  field  of  enjoyment,  both  as  enabling  him 
to  discern  so  much  folly  and  achieve  such  quantities  of 
minor  mischief,  was  opened  to  his  sneering  spirit  by 
his  pretensions  to  prophetic  knowledge. 

All  this  was  a  sort  of  happiness  which  I  could 
conceive  of,  though  I  had  little  sympathy  with  it. 
Perhaps,  had  I  been  then  inclined  to  admit  it,  I  might 


148  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

have  found  that  the  roving  life  was  more  proper  to 
him  than  to  either  of  his  companions ;  for  Satan,  to 
whom  I  had  compared  the  poor  man,  has  delighted, 
ever  since  the  time  of  Job,  in  'wandering  up  and 
down  upon  the  earth  ; '  and  indeed  a  crafty  disposition, 
which  operates  not  in  deep-laid  plans,  but  in  discon 
nected  tricks,  could  not  have  an  adequate  scope, 
unless  naturally  impelled  to  a  continual  change  of 
scene  and  society.  My  reflections  were  here  inter 
rupted. 

4  Another  visitor ! '  exclaimed  the  old  show-man. 

The  door  of  the  wagon  had  been  closed  against 
the  tempest,  which  was  roaring  and  blustering  with 
prodigious  fury  and  commotion,  and  beating  violently 
against  our  shelter,  as  if  it  claimed  all  those  homeless 
people  for  its  lawful  prey,  while  we,  caring  little  for 
the  displeasure  of  the  elements,  sat  comfortably  talk 
ing.  There  was  now  an  attempt  to  open  the  door, 
succeeded  by  a  voice,  uttering  some  strange,  unintel 
ligible  gibberish,  which  my  companions  mistook  for 
Greek,  and  I  suspected  to  be  thieves'  Latin.  How 
ever,  the  show-man  stept  forward,  and  gave  admit 
tance  to  a  figure  which  made  me  imagine,  either  that 
our  wagon  had  rolled  back  two  hundred  years  into 
past  ages,  or  that  the  forest  and  its  old  inhabitants  had 
sprung  up  around  us  by  enchantment. 

It  was  a  red  Indian,  armed  with  his  bow  and  arrow. 
His  dress  was  a  sort  of  cap,  adorned  with  a  single 
feather  of  some  wild  bird,  and  a  frock  of  blue  cotton, 
girded  tight  about  him  ;  on  his  breast,  like  orders  of 
knighthood,  hung  a  crescent  and  a  circle,  and  other 
ornaments  of  silver ;  while  a  small  crucifix  betokened 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  149 

that  our  Father  the  Pope  had  interposed  between  the 
Indian  and  the  Great  Spirit,  whom  he  had  worshipped 
in  his  simplicity.  This  son  of  the  wilderness,  and 
pilgrim  of  the  storm,  took  his  place  silently  in  the 
midst  of  us.  When  the  first  surprise  was  over,  I 
rightly  conjectured  him  to  be  one  of  the  Penobscot 
tribe,  parties  of  which  I  had  often  seen,  in  their  sum 
mer  excursions  down  our  Eastern  rivers.  There 
they  paddle  their  birch  canoes  among  the  coasting 
schooners,  and  build  their  wigwam  beside  some  roar 
ing  mill-dam,  and  drive  a  little  trade  in  basket  work 
where  their  fathers  hunted  deer.  Our  new  visitor 
was  probably  wandering  through  the  country  towards 
Boston,  subsisting  on  the  careless  charity  of  the  peo 
ple,  while  he  turned  his  archery  to  profitable  account 
by  shooting  at  cents,  which  were  to  be  the  prize  of 
his  successful  aim. 

The  Indian  had  not  long  been  seated,  ere  our  merry 
damsel  sought  to  draw  him  into  conversation.  She, 
indeed,  seemed  all  made  up  of  sunshine  in  the  month 
of  May  ;  for  there  was  nothing  so  dark  and  dismal 
that  her  pleasant  mind  could  not  cast  a  glow  over  it ; 
and  the  wild  man,  like  a  fir-tree  in  his  native  forest, 
soon  began  to  brighten  into  a  sort  of  sombre  cheer 
fulness.  At  length,  she  inquired  whether  his  journey 
had  any  particular  end  or  purpose. 

i  I  go  shoot  at  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford,' 
replied  the  Indian. 

'  And  here  are  five  more,'  said  the  girl,  4  all  aiming 
at  the  camp-meeting  too.  You  shall  be  one  of  us, 
for  we  travel  with  light  hearts  ;  and  as  for  me,  I  sing 
merry  songs,  and  tell  merry  tales,  and  am  full  of 

VOL.    II.  10 


150  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

merry  thoughts,  and  I  dance  merrily  along  the  road, 
so  that  there  is  never  any  sadness  among  them  that 
keep  me  company.  But,  oh,  you  would  find  it 
very  dull  indeed,  to  go  all  the  way  to  Stamford 
alone  ! ' 

My  ideas  of  the  aboriginal  character  led  me  to  fear 
that  the  Indian  would  prefer  his  own  solitary  musings, 
to  the  gay  society  thus  offered  him  ;  on  the  contrary, 
the  girl's  proposal  met  with  immediate  acceptance, 
and  seemed  to  animate  him  with  a  misty  expectation 
of  enjoyment.  I  now  gave  myself  up  to  a  course  of 
thought  .which,  whether  it  flowed  naturally  from  this 
combination  of  events,  or  was  drawn  forth  by  a  way 
ward  fancy,  caused  my  mind  to  thrill  as  if  I  were 
listening  to  deep  music.  I  saw  mankind,  in  this 
weary  old  age  of  the  world,  either  enduring  a  slug 
gish  existence  amid  the  smoke  and  dust  of  cities,  or, 
if  they  breathed  a  purer  air,  still  lying  down  at  night 
with  no  hope  but  to  wear  out  to-morrow,  and  all  the 
to-morrows  which  make  up  life,  among  the  same  dull 
scenes  and  in  the  same  wretched  toil,  that  had 
darkened  the  sunshine  of  to-day.  But  there  were 
some,  full  of  the  primeval  instinct,  who  preserved  the 
freshness  of  youth  to  their  latest  years  by  the  con 
tinual  excitement  of  new  objects,  new  pursuits,  and 
new  associates ;  and  cared  little,  though  their  birth 
place  might  have  been  here  in  New  England,  if  the 
grave  should  close  over  them  in  Central  Asia.  Fate 
was  summoning  a  parliament  of  these  free  •  spirits  ; 
unconscious  of  the  impulse  which  directed  them  to  a 
common  centre,  they  had  come  hither  from  far  and 
near ;  and  last  of  all,  appeared  the  representative  of 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  151 

those  mighty  vagrants,  who  had  chased  the  deer 
during  thousands  of  years,  and  were  chasing  it  now 
in  the  Spirit  Land.  Wandering  down  through  the 
waste  of  ages,  the  woods  had  vanished  around  his 
path  ;  his  arm  had  lost  somewhat  of  its  strength,  his 
foot  of  its  fleetness,  his  mien  of  its  wild  regality,  his 
heart  and  mind  of  their  savage  virtue  and  uncultured 
force  ;  but  here,  untamable  to  the  routine  of  artificial 
life,  roving  now  along  the  dusty  road,  as  of  old  over 
the  forest  leaves,  here  was  the  Indian  still. 

4  Well,'  said  the  old  show-man,  in  the  midst  of  my 
meditations,  '  here  is  an  honest  company  of  ue  —  one, 
two,  three,  four,  five,  six  —  all  going  to  tbe  camp- 
meeting  at  Stamford.  Now,  hoping  no  jMFence,  I 
should  like  to  know  where  this  young  gen^pman  may 
be  going  ? ' 

I  started.  How  came  I  among  these  wanderers  ? 
The  free  mind,  that  preferred  its  own  folly  to 
another's  wisdom  ;  the  open  spirit,  that  found  com 
panions  every  where  ;  above  all,  the  restless  impulse, 
that  had  so  often  made  me  wretched  in  the  midst  of 
enjoyments  ;  these  were  my  claims  to  be  of  their 
society. 

'  My  friends  ! '  cried  I,  stepping  into  the  centre  of 
the  wagon,  '  I  am  going  with  you  to  the  camp-meeting 
at  Stamford.' 

'  But  in  what  capacity  ? '  asked  the  old  show-man, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  c  All  of  us  here  can  get 
our  bread  in  some  creditable  way.  Every  honest 
man  should  have  his  livelihood.  You,  sir,  as  I  take 
it,  are  a  mere  strolling  gentleman.' 

I    proceeded   to   inform   the    company,  that,  when 


152  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Nature  gave  me  a  propensity  to  their  way  of  life, 
she  had  not  left  me  altogether  destitute  of  qualifica 
tions  for  it ;  though  I  could  not  deny  that  my  talent 
was  less  respectable,  and  might  be  less  profitable, 
than  the  meanest  of  theirs.  My  design,  in  short,  was 
to  imitate  the  story-tellers  of  whom  Oriental  travellers 
have  told  us,  and  become  an  itinerant  novelist,  reciting 
my  own  extemporaneous  fictions  to  such  audiences  as 
1  could  collect. 

'  Either  this,'  said  I,  '  is  my  vocation,  or  I  have 
been  born  in  vain.' 

The  fortune-teller,  with  a  sly  wink  to  the  company, 
proposed  to  take  me  as  an  apprentice  to  one  or  other 
of  his  professions,  either  of  which,  undoubtedly,  would 
have  given  full  scope  to  whatever  inventive  talent  I 
might  possess.  The  bibliopolist  spoke  a  few  words  in 
opposition  to  my  plan,  influenced  partly,  I  suspect,  by 
the  jealousy  of  authorship,  and  partly  by  an  appre 
hension  that  the  viva  voce  practice  would  become 
general  among  novelists,  to  the  infinite  detriment  of 
the  book  trade.  Dreading  a  rejection,  I  solicited  the 
interest  of  the  merry  damsel. 

'  Mirth,'  cried  I,  most  aptly  appropriating  the  words 
of  L'Allegro,  '  to  thee  I  sue  !  Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy 
crew  ! ' 

'  Let  us  indulge  the  poor  youth,'  said  Mirth,  with  a 
kindness  which  made  me  love  her  dearly,  though  I 
was  no  such  coxcomb  as  to  misinterpret  her  motives. 
4 1  have  espied  much  promise  in  him.  True,  a  shadow 
sometimes  flits  across  his  brow,  but  the  sunshine  is 
sure  to  follow  in  a  moment.  He  is  never  guilty  of  a 
sad  thought,  but  a  merry  one  is  twin-born  with  it. 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  153 

We  will  take  him  with  us ;  and  you  shall  see  that  he 
will  set  us  all  a  laughing  before  we  reach  the  camp- 
meeting  at  Stamford.' 

Her  voice  silenced  the  scruples  of  the  rest,  and 
gained  me  admittance  into  the  league ;  according  to 
the  terms  of  which,  without  a  community  of  goods  or 
profits,  we  were  to  lend  each  other  all  the  aid,  and 
avert  all  the  harm,  that  might  be  in  our  power.  This 
affair  settled,  a  marvellous  jollity  entered  into  the 
whole  tribe  of  us,  manifesting  itself  characteristically 
in  each  individual.  The  old  show-man,  sitting  down 
to  his  barrel  organ,  stirred  up  the  souls  of  the  pigmy 
people  with  one  of  the  quickest  tunes  in  the  music 
book ;  tailors,  blacksmiths,  gentlemen,  and  ladies,  all 
seemed  to  share  in  the  spirit  of  the  occasion ;  and  the 
Merry  Andrew  played  his  part  more  facetiously  than 
ever,  nodding  and  winking  particularly  at  me.  The 
young  foreigner  flourished  his  fiddle-bow  with  a 
master's  hand,  and  gave  an  inspiring  echo  to  the 
show-man's  melody.  The  bookish  man  and  the 
merry  damsel  started  up  simultaneously  to  dance  ;  the 
former  enacting  the  double  shuffle  in  a  style  which 
every  body  must  have  witnessed,  ere  Election  week 
was  blotted  out  of  time ;  while  the  girl,  setting  her 
arms  akimbo  with  both  hands  at  her  slim  waist,  dis 
played  such  light  rapidity  of  foot,  and  harmony  of 
varying  attitude  and  motion,  that  I  could  not  conceive 
how  she  ever  was  to  stop  ;  imagining,  at  the  moment, 
that  Nature  had  made  her,  as  the  old  show-man  had 
made  his  puppets,  for  no  earthly  purpose  but  to  dance 
jigs.  The  Indian  bellowed  forth  a  succession  of  most 
hideous  outcries,  somewhat  affrighting  us,  till  we 


154  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

interpreted  them  as  the  war  song,  with  which,  in 
imitation  of  his  ancestors,  he  was  prefacing  the  assault 
on  Stamford.  The  conjurer,  meanwhile,  sat  demurely 
in  a  corner,  extracting  a  sly  enjoyment  from  the  whole 
scene,  and,  like  the  facetious  Merry  Andrew,  directing 
his  queer  glance  particularly  at  me. 

As  for  myself,  with  great  exhilaration  of  fancy,  I 
began  to  arrange  and  color  the  incidents  of  a  tale, 
wherewith  I  proposed  to  amuse  an  audience  that  very 
evening  ;  for  I  saw  that  my  associates  were  a  little 
ashamed  of  me,  and  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost  in 
obtaining  a  public  acknowledgment  of  my  abilities. 

4  Come,  fellow-laborers,'  at  last  said  the  old  show 
man,  whom  we  had  elected  President ;  c  the  shower 
is  over,  and  we  must  be  doing  our  duty  by  these  poor 
souls  at  Stamford.' 

'  We  '11  come  among  them  in  procession,  with  music 
and  dancing,'  cried  the  merry  damsel. 

Accordingly  —  for  it  must  be  understood  that  our 
pilgrimage  was  to  be  performed  on  foot  —  we  sallied 
joyously  out  of  the  wagon,  each  of  us,  even  the  old 
gentleman  in  his  white-top  boots,  giving  a  great  skip 
as  we  came  down  the  ladder.  Above  our  heads  there 
was  such  a  glory  of  sunshine  and  splendor  of  clouds, 
and  such  brightness  of  verdure  below,  that,  as  I  mod 
estly  remarked  at  the  time,  Nature  seemed  to  have 
washed  her  face,  and  put  on  the  best  of  her  jewelry 
and  a  fresh  green  gown,  in  honor  of  our  confederation. 
Casting  our  eyes  northward,  we  beheld  a  horseman 
approaching  leisurely,  and  splashing  through  the  little 
puddles  on  the  Stamford  road.  Onward  he  came, 
sticking  up  in  his  saddle  with  rigid  perpendicularity,  a 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  155 

tall,  thin  figure  in  rusty  black,  whom  the  show-man 
and  the  conjurer  shortly  recognised  to  be,  what  his 
aspect  sufficiently  indicated,  a  travelling  preacher  of 
great  fame  among  the  Methodists.  What  puzzled  us 
was  the  fact,  that  his  face  appeared  turned  from, 
instead  of  to,  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford.  How 
ever,  as  this  new  votary  of  the  wandering  life  drew 
near  the  little  green  space,  where  the  guide-post  and 
our  wagon  were  situated,  my  six  fellow  vagabonds  and 
myself  rushed  forward  and  surrounded  him,  crying  out 
with  united  voices  — 

4  What  news,  what  news,  from  the  camp-meeting  at 
Stamford  ? ' 

The  missionary  looked  down,  in  surprise,  at  as  sin 
gular  a  knot  of  people  as  could  have  been  selected  from 
all  his  heterogeneous  auditors.  Indeed,  considering 
that  we  might  all  be  classified  under  the  general  head 
of  Vagabond,  there  was  great  diversity  of  character 
among  the  grave  old  show-man,  the  sly,  prophetic 
beggar,  the  fiddling  foreigner  and  his  merry  damsel, 
the  smart  bibliopolist,  the  sombre  Indian,  and  myself, 
the  itinerant  novelist,  a  slender  youth  of  eighteen.  I 
even  fancied  that  a  smile  was  endeavoring  to  disturb 
the  iron  gravity  of  the  preacher's  mouth. 

'  Good  people,'  answered  he,  4  the  camp-meeting  is 
broke  up.' 

So  saying,  the  Methodist  minister  switched  his  steed, 
and  rode  westward.  Our  union  being  thus  nullified, 
by  the  removal  of  its  object,  we  were  sundered  at  once 
to  the  four  winds  of  Heaven.  The  fortune-teller, 
giving  a  nod  to  all,  and  a  peculiar  wink  to  me,  departed 
on  his  northern  tour,  chuckling  within  himself  as  he 


156  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

took  the  Stamford  road.  The  old  show-man  and  his 
literary  coadjutor  were  already  tackling  their  horses  to 
the  wagon,  with  a  design  to  peregrinate  southwest 
along  the  seacoast.  The  foreigner  and  the  merry 
damsel  took  their  laughing  leave,  and  pursued  the 
eastern  road,  which  I  had  that  day  trodden  ;  as  they 
passed  away,  the  young  man  played  a  lively  strain, 
and  the  girl's  happy  spirit  broke  into  a  dance  ;  and 
thus,  dissolving,  as  it  were,  into  sunbeams  and  gay 
music,  that  pleasant  pair  departed  from  my  view. 
Finally,  with  a  pensive  shadow  thrown  across  my 
mind,  yet  emulous  of  the  light  philosophy  of  my  late 
companions,  I  joined  myself  to  the  Penobscot  Indian, 
and  set  forth  towards  the  distant  city. 


THE   WHITE    OLD   MAID. 

THE  moonbeams  came  through  two  deep  and  narrow 
windows,  and  showed  a  spacious  chamber,  richly  fur 
nished  in  an  antique  fashion.  From  one  lattice,  the 
shadow  of  the  diamond  panes  was  thrown  upon  the 
floor  ;  the  ghostly  light,  through  the  other,  slept  upon 
a  bed,  falling  between  the  heavy  silken  curtains,  and 
illuminating  the  face  of  a  young  man.  But,  how 
quietly  the  slumberer  lay !  how  pale  his  features  !  and 
how  like  a  shroud  the  sheet  was  wound  about  his  frame  ! 
Yes  ;  it  was  a  corpse,  in  its  burial  clothes. 

Suddenly,  the  fixed  features  seemed  to  move,  with 
dark  emotion.  Strange  fantasy  !  It  was  but  the  shadow 
of  the  fringed  curtain,  waving  betwixt  the  dead  face 
and  the  moonlight,  as  the  door  of  the  chamber  opened, 
and  a  girl  stole  softly  to  the  bedside.  Was  there 
delusion  in  the  moonbeams,  or  did  her  gesture  and  her 
eye  betray  a  gleam  of  triumph,  as  she  bent  over  the 
pale  corpse  —  pale  as  itself — and  pressed  her  living 
lips  to  the  cold  ones  of  the  dead  ?  As  she  drew 
back  from  that  long  kiss,  her  features  writhed,  as  if  a 
proud  heart  were  fighting  with  its  anguish.  Again  it 
seemed  that  the  features  of  the  corpse  had  moved, 
responsive  to  her  own.  Still  an  illusion  !  The  silken 
curtain  had  waved,  a  second  time,  betwixt  the  dead 
face  and  the  moonlight,  as  another  fair  young  girl  un- 


158  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

closed  the  door,  and  glided,  ghost-like,  to  the  bedside. 
There  the  two  maidens  stood,  both  beautiful,  with  the 
pale  beauty  of  the  dead  between  them.  But  she,  who 
had  first  entered,  was  proud  and  stately  ;  and  the  other, 
a  soft  and  fragile  thing. 

'  Away ! '  cried  the  lofty  one.  '  Thou  hadst  him 
living  !  The  dead  is  mine  ! ' 

4  Thine  ! '  returned  the  other,  shuddering.  c  Well 
hast  thou  spoken  !  The  dead  is  thine  ! ' 

The  proud  girl  started,  and  stared  into  her  face,  with 
a  ghastly  look.  But  a  wild  and  mournful  expression 
passed  across  the  features  of  the  gentle  one  ;  and, 
weak  and  helpless,  she  sank  down  on  the  bed,  her 
head  pillowed  beside  that  of  the  corpse,  and  her 
hair  mingling  with  his  dark  locks.  A  creature  of  hope 
and  joy,  the  first  draught  of  sorrow  had  bewildered 
her. 

'  Edith ! '  cried  her  rival. 

Edith  groaned,  as  with  a  sudden  compression  of  the 
heart ;  and  removing  her  cheek  from  the  dead  youth's 
pillow,  she  stood  upright,  fearfully  encountering  the 
eyes  of  the  lofty  girl. 

4  Wilt  thou  betray  me  ? '  said  the  latter,  calmly. 

'Till  the  dead  bid  me  speak,  I  will  be  silent,' 
answered  Edith.  '  Leave  us  alone  together  ?  Go,  and 
live  many  years,  and  then  return,  and  tell  me  of  thy 
life.  He,  too,  will  be  here  !  Then,  if  thou  tellcst  of 
sufferings  more  than  death,  we  will  both  forgive  thee.' 

'  And  what  shall  be  the  token  ? '  asked  the  proud 
girl,  as  if  her  heart  acknowledged  a  meaning  in  these 
wild  words. 

4  This  lock  of  hair,'  said  Edith,  lifting  one  of  the 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID.  159 

dark,  clustering  curls,  that  lay  heavily  on  the  dead 
man's  brow. 

The  two  maidens  joined  their  hands  over  the  bosom 
of  the  corpse,  and  appointed  a  day  and  hour,  far,  far 
in  time  to  come,  for  their  next  meeting  in  that  cham 
ber.  The  statelier  girl  gave  one  deep  look  at  the 
motionless  countenance,  and  departed  —  yet  turned 
again  and  trembled,  ere  she  closed  the  door,  almost 
believing  that  her  dead  lover  frowned  upon  her.  And 
Edith,  too  !  Was  not  her  white  form  fading  into  the 
moonlight  ?  Scorning  her  own  weakness,  she  went 
forth,  and  perceived  that  a  negro  slave  was  waiting  in 
the  passage,  with  a  wax-light,  which  he  held  between 
her  face  and  his  own,  and  regarded  her,  as  she  thought, 
with  an  ugly  expression  of  merriment.  Lifting  his 
torch  on  high,  the  slave  lighted  her  down  the  staircase, 
and  undid  the  portal  of  the  mansion.  The  young 
clergyman  of  the  town  had  just  ascended  the  steps, 
and  bowing  to  the  lady,  passed  in  without  a  word. 

Years,  many  years,  rolled  on ;  the  world  seemed 
new  again,  so  much  older  was  it  grown,  since  the 
night  when  those  pale  girls  had  clasped  their  hands 
across  the  bosom  of  the  corpse.  In  the  interval,  a 
lonely  woman  had  passed  from  youth  to  extreme  age, 
and  was  known  by  all  the  town,  as  the  '  Old  Maid  in 
the  Winding-Sheet.'  A  taint  of  insanity  had  affected 
her  whole  life,  but  so  quiet,  sad,  and  gentle,  so  utterly 
free  from  violence,  that  she  was  suffered  to  pursue 
her  harmless  fantasies,  unmolested  by  the  world,  with 
whose  business  or  pleasures  she  had  naught  to  do. 
She  dwelt  alone,  and  never  came  into  the  daylight, 
except  to  follow  funerals.  Whenever  a  corpse  was 


160  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

borne  along  the  street,  in  sunshine,  rain,  or  snow, 
whether  a  pompous  train,  of  the  rich  and  proud, 
thronged  after  it,  or  few  and  humble  were  the  mourn 
ers,  behind  them  came  the  lonely  woman,  in  a  long, 
white  garment,  which  the  people  called  her  shroud. 
She  took  no  place  among  the  kindred  or  the  friends, 
but  stood  at  the  door  to  hear  the  funeral  prayer,  and 
walked  in  the  rear  of  the  procession,  as  one  whose 
earthly  charge  it  was  to  haunt  the  house  of  mourning, 
and  be  the  shadow  of  affliction,  and  see  that  the  dead 
were  duly  buried.  So  long  had  this  been  her  custom, 
that  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  deemed  her  a  part  of 
every  funeral,  as  much  as  the  coffin-pall,  or  the  very 
corpse  itself,  and  augured  ill  of  the  sinner's  destiny, 
unless  the  *  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet '  came 
gliding,  like  a  ghost,  behind.  Once,  it  is  said,  she 
affrighted  a  bridal  party,  with  her  pale  presence,  ap 
pearing  suddenly  in  the  illuminated  hall,  just  as  the 
priest  was  uniting  a  false  maid  to  a  wealthy  man, 
before  her  lover  had  been  dead  a  year.  Evil  was  the 
omen  to  that  marriage  !  Sometimes  she  stole  forth 
by  moonlight,  and  visited  the  graves  of  venerable 
Integrity,  and  wedded  Love,  and  virgin  Innocence, 
and  every  spot  where  the  ashes  of  a  kind  and  faithful 
heart  were  mouldering.  Over  the  hillocks  of  those 
favored  dead,  would  she  stretch  out  her  arms,  with  a 
gesture,  as  if  she  were  scattering  seeds  ;  and  many 
believed  that  she  brought  them  from  the  garden  of 
Paradise  ;  for  the  graves,  which  she  had  visited,  were 
green  beneath  the  snow,  and  covered  with  sweet 
flowers  from  April  to  November.  Her  blessing  was 
better  than  a  holy  verse  upon  the  tombstone.  Thus 


I 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID  161 

wore  away  her  long,  sad,  peaceful,  and  fantastic  life, 
till  few  were  so  old  as  she,  and  the  people  of  later 
generations  wondered  how  the  dead  had  ever  been 
buried,  or  mourners  had  endured  their  grief,  without 
the  4  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet.' 

Still,  years  went  on,  and  still  she  followed  funerals, 
and  was  not  yet  summoned  to  her  own  festival  of 
death.  One  afternoon,  the  great  street  of  the  town 
was  all  alive  with  business  and  bustle,  though  the  sun 
now  gilded  only  the  upper  half  of  the  church-spire, 
having  left  the  housetops  and  loftiest  trees  in  shadow. 
The  scene  was  cheerful  and  animated,  in  spite  of  the 
sombre  shade  between  the  high  brick  buildings.  Here 
were  pompous  merchants,  in  white  wigs  and  laced 
velvet ;  the  bronzed  faces  of  sea  captains  ;  the  foreign 
garb  and  air  of  Spanish  Creoles  ;  and  the  disdainful 
port  of  natives  of  Old  England  ;  all  contrasted  with 
the  rough  aspect  of  one  or  two  back  settlers,  negoti 
ating  sales  of  timber,  from  forests  where  axe  had  never 
sounded.  Sometimes  a  lady  passed,  swelling  roundly 
forth  in  an  embroidered  petticoat,  balancing  her  steps 
in  high-heeled  shoes,  and  courtesying,  with  lofty 
grace,  to  the  punctilious  obeisances  of  the  gentlemen. 
The  life  of  the  town  seemed  to  have  its  very  centre 
not  far  from  an  old  mansion,  that  stood  somewhat 
back  from  the  pavement,  surrounded  by  neglected 
grass,  with  a  strange  air  of  loneliness,  rather  deep 
ened  than  dispelled  by  the  throng  so  near  it.  Its  site 
would  have  been  suitably  occupied  by  a  magnificent 
Exchange,  or  a  brick  block,  lettered  all  over  with  vari 
ous  signs ;  or  the  large  house  itself  might  have  made 
a  noble  tavern,  with  the  '  King's  Arms '  swinging 


162  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

before  it,  and  guests  in  every  chamber,  instead  of  the 
present  solitude.  But,  owing  to  some  dispute  about 
the  right  of  inheritance,  the  mansion  had  been  long 
without  a  tenant,  decaying  from  year  to  year,  and 
throwing  the  stately  gloom  of  its  shadow  over  the 
busiest  part  of  the  town.  Such  was  the  scene,  and 
such  the  time,  when  a  figure,  unlike  any  that  have 
been  described,  was  observed  at  a  distance  down  the 
street. 

'  I  espy  a  strange  sail,  yonder,'  remarked  a  Liver 
pool  captain ;  '  that  woman,  in  the  long,  white  gar 
ment  ! ' 

The  sailor  seemed  much  struck  by  the  object,  as 
were  several  others,  who,  at  the  same  moment,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  figure  that  had  attracted  his  notice. 
Almost  immediately,  the  various  topics  of  conversation 
gave  place  to  speculations,  in  an  under  tone,  on  this 
unwonted  occurrence. 

'  Can  there  be  a  funeral,  so  late  this  afternoon  ? ' 
inquired  some. 

They  looked  for  the  signs  of  death  at  every  door  — 
the  sexton,  the  hearse,  the  assemblage  of  black  clad 
relatives  —  all  that  makes  up  the  woful  pomp  of 
funerals.  They  raised  their  eyes,  also,  to  the  sun-gilt 
spire  of  the  church,  and  wondered  that  no  clang  pro 
ceeded  from  its  bell,  which  had  always  tolled  till  now, 
when  this  figure  appeared  in  the  light  of  day.  But 
none  had  heard  that  a  corpse  was  to  be  borne  to  its 
home  that  afternoon,  nor  was  there  any  token  of  a 
funeral,  except  the  apparition  of  the  c  Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding-Sheet.' 

4  What  may  this  portend  ? '  asked  each  man  of  his 
neighbor. 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID.  163 

All  smiled  as  they  put  the  question,  yet  with  a  cer 
tain  trouble  in  their  eyes,  as  if  pestilence,  or  some 
other  wide  calamity,  were  prognosticated  by  the 
untimely  intrusion  among  the  living,  of  one  whose 
presence  had  always  been  associated  with  death  and 
woe.  What  a  comet  is  to  the  earth,  was  that  sad 
woman  to  the  town.  Still  she  moved  on,  while  the 
hum  of  surprise  was  hushed  at  her  approach,  and  the 
proud  and  the  humble  stood  aside,  that  her  white  gar 
ment  might  not  wave  against  them.  It  was  a  long, 
loose  robe,  of  spotless  purity.  Its  wearer  appeared 
very  old,  pale,  emaciated,  and  feeble,  yet  glided  on 
ward,  without  the  unsteady  pace  of  extreme  age.  At 
one  point  of  her  course,  a  little  rosy  boy  burst  forth 
from  a  door,  and  ran,  with  open  arms,  towards  the 
ghostly  woman,  seeming  to  expect  a  kiss  from  her 
bloodless  lips.  She  made  a  slight  pause,  fixing  her 
eye  upon  him  with  an  expression  of  no  earthly  sweet 
ness,  so  that  the  child  shivered  and  stood  awe-struck, 
rather  than  affrighted,  while  the  Old  Maid  passed  on. 
Perhaps  her  garment  might  have  been  polluted  even 
by  an  infant's  touch ;  perhaps  her  kiss  would  have 
been  death  to  the  sweet  boy,  within  the  year. 

4  She  is  but  a  shadow,'  whispered  the  superstitious. 
4  The  child  put  forth  his  arms  and  could  not  grasp  her 
robe  ! ' 

The  wonder  was  increased,  when  the  Old  Maid 
passed  beneath  the  porch  of  the  deserted  mansion,  as 
cended  the  moss-covered  steps,  lifted  the  iron  knocker, 
and  gave  three  raps.  The  people  could  only  con 
jecture,  that  some  old  remembrance,  troubling  her 
bewildered  brain,  had  impelled  the  poor  woman  hither 


164  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

to  visit  the  friends  of  her  youth ;  all  gone  from  their 
home,  long  since  and  for  ever,  unless  their  ghosts  still 
haunted  it  —  fit  company  for  the  4  Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding-Sheet.'  An  elderly  man  approached  the 
steps,  and  reverently  uncovering  his  gray  locks,  es 
sayed  to  explain  the  matter. 

'  None,  Madam,'  said  he,  '  have  dwelt  in  this  house 
these  fifteen  years  agone  —  no,  not  since  the  death  of 
old  Colonel  Fenwicke,  whose  funeral  you  may  remem 
ber  to  have  followed.  His  heirs,  being  ill  agreed 
among  themselves,  have  let  the  mansion-house  go  to 
ruin.' 

The  Old  Maid  looked  slowly  round,  with  a  slight 
gesture  of  one  hand,  and  a  finger  of  the  other  upon 
her  lip,  appearing  more  shadow-like  than  ever,  in  the 
obscurity  of  the  porch.  But  again  she  lifted  the  ham 
mer,  and  gave,  this  time,  a  single  rap.  Could  it  be, 
that  a  footstep  was  now  heard,  coming  down  the  stair 
case  of  the  old  mansion,  which  all  conceived  to  have 
been  so  long  untenanted  ?  Slowly,  feebly,  yet  heavily, 
like  the  pace  of  an  aged  and  infirm  person,  the  step 
approached,  more  distinct  on  every  downward  stair, 
till  it  reached  the  portal.  The  bar  fell  on  the  inside ; 
the  door  was  opened.  One  upward  glance,  towards 
the  church-spire,  whence  the  sunshine  had  just  faded, 
was  the  last  that  the  people  saw  of  the  '  Old  Maid  in 
the  Winding-Sheet.' 

4  Who  undid  the  door  ? '  asked  many. 

This  question,  owing  to  the  depth  of  shadow  be 
neath  the  porch,  no  one  could  satisfactorily  answer. 
Two  or  three  aged  men,  while  protesting  against  an 
inference,  which  might  be  drawn,  affirmed  that  the 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID.  165 

person  within  was  a  negro,  and  bore  a  singular  resem 
blance  to  old  Ca3sar,  formerly  a  slave  in  the  house, 
but  freed  by  death  some  thirty  years  before. 

'  Her  summons  has  waked  up  a  servant  of  the  old 
family,'  said  one,  half  seriously. 

4  Let  us  wait  heje,'  replied  another.  '  More  guests 
will  knock  at  the  door,  anon.  But,  the  gate  of  the 
grave-yard  should  be  thrown  open  ! ' 

Twilight  had  overspread  the  town,  before  the  crowd 
began  to  separate,  or  the  comments  on  this  incident 
were  exhausted.  One  after  another  was  wending  his 
way  homeward,  when  a  coach — no  common  specta 
cle  in  those  days  —  drove  slowly  into  the  street.  It 
was  an  old-fashioned  equipage,  hanging  close  to  the 
ground,  with  arms  on  the  panels,  a  footman  behind, 
and  a  grave,  corpulent  coachman  seated  high  in  front 
—  the  whole  giving  an  idea  of  solemn  state  and 
dignity.  There  was  something  awful,  in  the  heavy 
rumbling  of  the  wheels.  The  coach  rolled  down  the 
street,  till,  coming  to  the  gateway  of  the  deserted 
mansion,  it  drew  up,  and  the  footman  sprang  to  the 
ground. 

4  Whose  grand  coach  is  this  ? '  asked  a  very  inquisi 
tive  body. 

The  footman  made  no  reply,  but  ascended  the  steps 
of  the  old  house,  gave  three  raps,  with  the  iron  ham 
mer,  and  returned  to  open  the  coach-door.  An  old 
man,  possessed  of  the  heraldic  lore  so  common  in  that 
day,  examined  the  shield  of  arms  on  the  panel. 

4  Azure,  a  lion's  head  erased,  between  three  flower 
de  luces,'  said  he  ;  then  whispered  the  name  of  the 
family  to  whom  these  bearings  belonged.  The  last 

VOL.  II.  11 


166  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

inheritor  of  its  honors  was  recently  dead,  after  a  long 
residence  amid  the  splendor  of  the  British  court, 
where  his  birth  and  wealth  had  given  him  no  mean 
station.  '  He  left  no  child,'  continued  the  herald, 
1  and  these  arms,  being  in  a  lozenge,  betoken  that  the 
coach  appertains  to  his  widow.' 

Further  disclosures,  perhaps,  might  have  been 
made,  had  not  the  speaker  suddenly  been  struck 
dumb,  by  the  stern  eye  of  an  ancient  lady,  who  thrust 
forth  her  head  from  the  coach,  preparing  to  descend. 
As  she  emerged,  the  people  saw  that  her  dress  was 
magnificent,  and  her  figure  dignified,  in  spite  of  age 
and  infirmity  —  a  stately  ruin,  but  with  a  look,  at 
once,  of  pride  and  wretchedness.  Her  strong  and 
rigid  features  had  an  awe  about  them,  unlike  that  of 
the  white  Old  Maid,  but  as  of  something  evil.  She 
passed  up  the  steps,  leaning  on  a  gold-headed  cane  ; 
the  door  swung  open,  as  she  ascended  —  and  the  light 
of  a  torch  glittered  on  the  embroidery  of  her  dress, 
and  gleamed  on  the  pillars  of  the  porch.  After  a 
momentary  pause  —  a  glance  backwards  —  and  then 
a  desperate  effort  —  she  went  in.  The  decipherer  of 
the  coat  of  arms  had  ventured  up  the  lowest  step, 
and  shrinking  back  immediately,  pale  and  tremulous, 
affirmed  that"  the  torch  was  held  by  the  very  image  of 
old  Caesar. 

'  But,  such  a  hideous  grin,'  added  he,  '  was  never 
seen  on  the  face  of  mortal  man,  black  or  white  !  It 
will  haunt  me  till  my  dying  day.' 

Meantime,  the  coach  had  wheeled  round,  with  a 
prodigious  clatter  on  the  pavement,  and  rumbled  up 
the  street,  disappearing  in  the  twilight,  while  the  ear 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID.  167 

still  tracked  its  course.  Scarcely  was  it  gone,  when 
the  people  began  to  question,  whether  the  coach  and 
attendants,  the  ancient  lady,  the  spectre  of  old  Cscsar, 
and  the  Old  Maid  herself,  were  not  all  a  strangely 
combined  delusion,  with  some  dark  purport  in  its  mys 
tery.  The  whole  town  was  astir,  so  that,  instead  of 
dispersing,  the  crowd  continually  increased,  and  stood 
gazing  up  at  the  windows  of  the  mansion,  now  silvered 
by  the  brightening  moon.  The  elders,  glad  to  indulge 
the  narrative  propensity  of  age,  told  of  the  long-faded 
splendor  of  the  family,  the  entertainments  they  had 
given,  and  the  guests,  the  greatest  of  the  land,  and 
even  titled  and  noble  ones  from  abroad,  who  had 
passed  beneath  that  portal.  These  graphic  reminis 
cences  seemed  to  call  up  the  ghosts  of  those  to  whom 
they  referred.  So  strong  was  the  impression,  on 
some  of  the  more  imaginative  hearers,  that  two  or 
three  were  seized  with  trembling  fits,  at  one  and  the 
same  moment,  protesting  that  they  had  distinctly  heard 
three  other  raps  of  the  iron  knocker. 

'  Impossible  ! '  exclaimed  others.  '  See  !  The 
moon  shines  beneath  the  porch,  and  shows  every  part 
of  it,  except  in  the  narrow  shade  of  that  pillar.  There 
is  no  one  there  ! ' 

'  Did  not  the  door  open  ? '  whispered  one  of  these 
fanciful  persons. 

'  Didst  thou  see  it,  too  ? '  said  his  companion,  in  a 
startled  tone. 

But  the  general  sentiment  was  opposed  to  the  idea, 
that  a  third  visitant  had  made  application  at  the  door 
of  the  deserted  house.  A  few,  however,  adhered  to 
this  new  marvel,  and  even  declared  that  a  red  gleam, 


168  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

like  that  of  a  torch,  had  shone  through  the  great  front 
window,  as  if  the  negro  were  lighting  a  guest  up  the 
staircase.  This,  too,  was  pronounced  a  mere  fantasy. 
But,  at  once,  the  whole  multitude  started,  and  each 
man  beheld  his  own  terror  painted  in  the  faces  of  all 
the  rest. 

'  What  an  awful  thing  is  this  ! '  cried  they. 

A  shriek,  too  fearfully  distinct  for  doubt,  had  been 
heard  within  the  mansion,  breaking  forth  suddenly, 
and  succeeded  by  a  deep  stillness,  as  if  a  heart  had 
burst  in  giving  it  utterance.  The  people  knew  not 
whether  to  fly  from  the  very  sight  of  the  house,  or 
to  rush  trembling  in,  and  search  out  the  strange  mys 
tery.  Amid  their  confusion  and  affright,  they  are 
somewhat  reassured  by  the  appearance  of  their  cler 
gyman,  a  venerable  patriarch,  and  equally  a  saint, 
who  had  taught  them  and  their  fathers  the  way  to 
Heaven,  for  more  than  the  space  of  an  ordinary  life 
time.  He  was  a  reverend  figure,  with  long,  white 
hair  upon  his  shoulders,  a  white  beard  upon  his  breast, 
and  a  back  so  bent  over  his  staff,  that  he  seemed  to 
be  looking  downward,  continually,  as  if  to  choose  a 
proper  grave  for  his  weary  frame.  It  was  some  time 
before  the  good  old  man,  being  deaf,  and  of  impaired 
intellect,  could  be  made  to  comprehend  such  portions 
of  the  affair,  as  were  comprehensible  at  all.  But, 
when  possessed  of  the  facts,  his  energies  assumed 
unexpected  vigor. 

'  Verily,'  said  the  old  gentleman,  '  it  will  be  fitting 
that  I  enter  the  mansion-house  of  the  worthy  Colonel 
Fenwicke,  lest  any  harm  should  have  befallen  that 
true  Christian  woman,  whom  ye  call  the  "  Old  Maid 
in  the  Winding-Sheet." ' 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID.  169 

Behold,  then,  the  venerable  clergyman  ascending 
the  steps  of  the  mansion,  with  a  torch-bearer  behind 
him.  It  was  the  elderly  man,  who  had  spoken  to  the 
Old  Maid,  and  the  same  who  had  afterwards  explained 
the  shield  of  arms,  and  recognised  the  features  of  the 
negro.  Like  their  predecessors,  they  gave  three  raps, 
with  the  iron  hammer. 

1  Old  Caesar  cometh  not,'  observed  the  priest.  '  Well, 
I  wot,  he  no  longer  doth  service  in  this  mansion.' 

'  Assuredly,  then,  it  was  something  worse,  in  old 
Cresar's  likeness  ! '  said  the  other  adventurer. 

1  Be  it  as  God  wills,'  answered  the  clergyman. 
'  See  !  my  strength,  though  it  be  much  decayed,  hath 
sufficed  to  open  this  heavy  door.  Let  us  enter,  and 
pass  up  the  staircase.' 

Here  occurred  a  singular  exemplification  of  the 
dreamy  state  of  a  very  old  man's  mind.  As  they 
ascended  the  wide  flight  of  stairs,  the  aged  clergy 
man  appeared  to  move  with  caution,  occasionally 
standing  aside,  and  oftener  bending  his  head,  as  it 
were  in  salutation,  thus  practising  all  the  gestures  of 
one  who  makes  his  way  through  a  throng.  Reaching 
the  head  of  the  staircase,  he  looked  around,  with  sad 
and  solemn  benignity,  laid  aside  his  staff*,  bared  his 
hoary  locks,  and  was  evidently  on  the  point  of  com 
mencing  a  prayer. 

1  Reverend  Sir,'  said  his  attendant,  who  conceived 
this  a  very  suitable  prelude  to  their  further  search, 
'  would  it  not  be  well,  that  the  people  join  with  us  in 
prayer  ? ' 

'  Well-a-day ! '  cried  the  old  clergyman,  staring 
strangely  around  him.  4  Art  thou  here  with  me,  and 


170  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

none  other  ?  Verily,  past  times  were  present  to  me, 
and  I  deemed  that  I  was  to  make  a  funeral  prayer,  as 
many  a  time  heretofore,  from  the  head  of  this  stair- 
case.  Of  a  truth,  I  saw  the  shades  of  many  that  are 
gone.  Yea,  I  have  prayed  at  their  burials,  one  after 
another,  and  the  "  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet " 
hath  seen  them  to  their  graves  ! ' 

Being  now  more  thoroughly  awake  to  their  present 
purpose,  he  took  his  staff,  and  struck  forcibly  on  the 
floor,  till  there  came  an  echo  from  each  deserted 
chamber,  but  no  menial,  to  answer  their  summons. 
They  therefore  walked  along  the  passage,  and  again 
paused,  opposite  to  the  great  front  window,  through 
which  was  seen  the  crowd,  in  the  shadow  and  partial 
moonlight  of  the  street  beneath.  On  their  right  hand 
was  the  open  door  of  a  chamber,  and  a  closed  one 
on  their  left.  The  clergyman  pointed  his  cane  to  the 
carved  oak  panel  of  the  latter. 

'  Within  that  chamber,'  observed  he,  '  a  whole  life 
time  since,  did  I  sit  by  the  death-bed  of  a  goodly 
young  man,  who,  being  now  at  the  last  gasp '  — 

Apparently,  there  was  some  powerful  excitement 
in  the  ideas  which  had  now  flashed  across  his  mind. 
He  snatched  the  torch  from  his  companion's  hand, 
and  threw  open  the  door  with  such  sudden  violence, 
that  the  flame  was  extinguished,  leaving  them  no 
other  light  than  the  moonbeams,  which  fell  through 
two  windows  into  the  spacious  chamber.  It  was  suffi 
cient  to  discover  all  that  could  be  known.  In  a  high- 
backed,  oaken  arm-chair,  upright,  with  her  hands 
clasped  across  her  breast,  and  her  head  thrown  back, 
sat  the  '  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet.'  The  stately 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID.  171 

dame  had  fallen  on  her  knees,  with  her  forehead  on 
the  holy  knees  of  the  Old  Maid,  one  hand  upon  the 
floor,  and  the  other  pressed  convulsively  against  her 
heart.  It  clutched  a  lock  of  hair,  once  sable,  now 
discolored  with  a  greenish  mould.  As  the  priest  and 
layman  advanced  into  the  chamber,  the  Old  Maid's 
features  assumed  such  a  semblance  of  shifting  expres 
sion,  that  they  trusted  to  hear  the  whole  mystery 
explained,  by  a  single  word.  But  it  was  only  the 
shadow  of  a  tattered  curtain,  waving  betwixt  the  dead 
face  and  the  moonlight. 

'  Both  dead  ! '  said  the  venerable  man.  '  Then  who 
shall  divulge  the  secret  ?  Methinks  it  glimmers  to  and 
fro  in  my  mind,  like  the  light  and  shadow  across  the 
Old  Maid's  face.  And  now  't  is  gone  ! ' 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE. 

1  AND  so,  Peter,  you  won't  even  consider  of  the  busi 
ness  ? '  said  Mr.  John  Brown,  buttoning  his  surtout 
over  the  snug  rotundity  of  his  person,  and  drawing  on 
his  gloves.  '  You  positively  refuse  to  let  me  have  this 
crazy  old  house,  and  the  land  under  and  adjoining,  at 
the  price  named  ? ' 

1  Neither  at  that,  nor  treble  the  sum,'  responded 
the  gaunt,  grizzled,  and  threadbare  Peter  Goldthwaite. 
1  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Brown,  you  must  find  another  site 
for  your  brick  block,  and  be  content  to  leave  my 
estate  with  the  present  owner.  Next  summer,  I  intend 
to  put  a  splendid  new  mansion  over  the  cellar  of  the 
old  house.' 

1  Pho,  Peter ! '  cried  Mr.  Brown,  as  he  opened  the 
kitchen  door ;  4  content  yourself  with  building  castles 
in  the  air,  where  house-lots  are  cheaper  than  on  earth, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  cost  of  bricks  and  mortar.  Such 
foundations  are  solid  enough  for  your  edifices  ;  while 
this  underneath  us  is  just  the  thing  for  mine  ;  and  so 
we  may  both  be  suited.  What  say  you,  again  ?  ' 

4  Precisely  what  I  said  before,  Mr.  Brown,'  an 
swered  Peter  Goldthwaite.  4  And,  as  for  castles  in  the 
air,  mine  may  not  be  as  magnificent  as  that  sort  of 
architecture,  but  perhaps  as  substantial,  Mr.  Brown, 
as  the  very  respectable  brick  block  with  dry-goods' 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  173 

stores,  tailors'  shops,  and  banking-rooms  on  the  lower 
floor,  and  lawyers'  offices  in  the  second  story,  which 
you  are  so  anxious  to  substitute.' 

4  And  the  cost,  Peter,  eh  ? '  said  Mr.  Brown,  as  he 
withdrew,  in  something  of  a  pet.  '  That,  I  suppose, 
will  be  provided  for,  off-hand,  by  drawing  a  check  on 
Bubble  Bank ! ' 

John  Brown  and  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  been  jointly 
known  to  the  commercial  world  between  twenty  and 
thirty  years  before,  under  the  firm  of  Goldthwaite  & 
Brown  ;  which  copartnership,  however,  was  speedily 
dissolved,  by  the  natural  incongruity  of  its  constituent 
parts.  Since  that  event,  John  Brown,  with  exactly  the 
qualities  of  a  thousand  other  John  Browns,  and  by  just 
such  plodding  methods  as  they  used,  had  prospered 
wonderfully,  and  become  one  of  the  wealthiest  John 
Browns  on  earth.  Peter  Goldthwaite,  on  the  contrary, 
after  innumerable  schemes,  which  ought  to  have  col 
lected  all  the  coin  and  paper  currency  of  the  country 
into  his  coffers,  was  as  needy  a  gentleman  as  ever 
wore  a  patch  upon  his  elbow.  The  contrast  between 
him  and  his  former  partner  may  be  briefly  marked : 
for  Brown  never  reckoned  upon  luck,  yet  always  had 
it ;  while  Peter  made  luck  the  main  condition  of  his 
projects,  and  always  missed  it.  While  the  means  held 
out,  his  speculations  had  been  magnificent,  but  were 
chiefly  confined,  of  late  years,  to  such  small  business 
as  adventures  in  the  lottery.  Once,  he  had  gone  on  a 
gold-gathering  expedition,  somewhere  to  the  South,  and 
ingeniously  contrived  to  empty  his  pockets  more  thor 
oughly  than  ever  ;  while  others,  doubtless,  were  filling 
theirs  with  native  bullion  by  the  handful.  More  re- 


174  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

cently,  he  had  expended  a  legacy  of  a  thousand  or  two 
of  dollars  in  purchasing  Mexican  scrip,  and  thereby 
became  the  proprietor  of  a  province  ;  which,  however, 
so  far  as  Peter  could  find  out,  was  situated  where  he 
might  have  had  an  empire  for  the  same  money,  —  in 
the  clouds.  From  a  search  after  this  valuable  real 
estate,  Peter  returned  so  gaunt  and  threadbare,  that, 
on  reaching  New  England,  the  scarecrows  in  the  corn 
fields  beckoned  to  him,  as  he  passed  by.  4  They  did 
but  flutter  in  the  wind,'  quoth  Peter  Goldthwaite.  No, 
Peter,  they  beckoned,  for  the  scarecrows  knew  their 
brother ! 

At  the  period  of  our  story,  his  whole  visible  income 
would  not  have  paid  the  tax  of  the  old  mansion  in 
which  we  find  him.  It  was  one  of  those  rusty,  moss- 
grown,  many-peaked,  wooden  houses,  which  are  scat 
tered  about  the  streets  of  our  elder  towns,  with  a 
beetle-browed  second  story  projecting  over  the  foun 
dation,  as  if  it  frowned  at  the  novelty  around  it.  This 
old  paternal  edifice,  needy  as  he  was,  and  though, 
being  centrally  situated  on  the  principal  street  of  the 
town,  it  would  have  brought  him  a  handsome  sum, 
the  sagacious  Peter  had  his  own  reasons  for  never 
parting  with,  either  by  auction  or  private  sale.  There 
seemed,  indeed,  to  be  a  fatality  that  connected  him 
with  his  birthplace ;  for,  often  as  he  had  stood  on 
the  verge  of  ruin,  and  standing  there  even  now,  he 
had  not  yet  taken  the  step  beyond  it,  which  would 
have  compelled  him  to  surrender  the  house  to  his 
creditors.  So  here  he  dwelt  with  bad  luck  till  good 
should  come. 

Here,  then,  in  his  kitchen,  the  only  room  where  a 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  175 

spark  of  fire  took  off  the  chill  of  a  November  evening, 
poor  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  just  been  visited  by  his 
rich  old  partner.  At  the  close  of  their  interview,  Peter, 
with  rather  a  mortified  look,  glanced  downwards  at  his 
dress,  parts  of  which  appeared  as  ancient  as  the  days 
of  Goldthwaite  &;  Brown.  His  upper  garment  was  a 
mixed  surtout,  wofully  faded,  and  patched  with  newer 
stuff  on  each  elbow ;  beneath  this,  he  wore  a  thread 
bare  black  coat,  some  of  the  silk  buttons  of  which  had 
been  replaced  with  others  of  a  different  pattern ;  and, 
lastly,  though  he  lacked  not  a  pair  of  gray  pantaloons, 
they  were  very  shabby  ones,  and  had  been  partially 
turned  brown,  by  the  frequent  toasting  of  Peter's  shins 
before  a  scanty  fire.  Peter's  person  was  in  keeping 
with  his  goodly  apparel.  Gray-headed,  hollow-eyed, 
pale-cheeked,  and  lean-bodied,  he  was  the  perfect  pic 
ture  of  a  man  who  had  fed  on  windy  schemes  and 
empty  hopes,  till  he  could  neither  live  on  such  un 
wholesome  trash,  nor  stomach  more  substantial  food. 
But,  withal,  this  Peter  Goldthwaite,  crack-brained  sim 
pleton  as,  perhaps,  he  was,  might  have  cut  a  very 
brilliant  figure  in  the  world,  had  he  employed  his 
imagination  in  the  airy  business  of  poetry,  instead  of 
making  it  a  demon  of  mischief  in  mercantile  pursuits. 
After  all,  he  was  no  bad  fellow,  but  as  harmless  as  a 
child,  and  as  honest  and  honorable,  and  as  much  of 
the  gentleman  which  nature  meant  him  for,  as  an 
irregular  life  and  depressed  circumstances  will  permit 
any  man  to  be. 

As  Peter  stood  on  the  uneven  bricks  of  his  hearth, 
looking  round  at  the  disconsolate  old  kitchen,  his  eyes 
began  to  kindle  with  the  illumination  of  an  enthusiasm 


176  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

that  never  long  deserted  him.  He  raised  his  hand, 
clenched  it,  and  smote  it  energetically  against  the 
smoky  panel  over  the  fireplace. 

4  The  time  is  come  ! '  said  he.  4  With  such  a  treas 
ure  at  command,  it  were  folly  to  be  a  poor  man  any 
longer.  To-morrow  morning  I  will  begin  with  the 
garret,  nor  desist  till  I  have  torn  the  house  down  ! ' 

Deep  in  the  chimney-corner,  like  a  witch  in  a  dark 
cavern,  sat  a  little  old  woman,  mending  one  of  the 
two  pairs  of  stockings  wherewith  Peter  Goldthwaite 
kept  his  toes  from  being  frostbitten.  As  the  feet  were 
ragged  past  all  darning,  she  had  cut  pieces  out  of  a 
cast-off  flannel  petticoat,  to  make  new  soles.  Tabitha 
Porter  was  an  old  maid,  upwards  of  sixty  years  of  age, 
fifty-five  of  which  she  had  sat  in  that  same  chimney- 
corner,  such  being  the  length  of  time  since  Peter's 
grandfather  had  taken  her  from  the  almshouse.  She 
had  no  friend  but  Peter,  nor  Peter  any  friend  but  Tab 
itha  ;  so  long  as  Peter  might  have  a  shelter  for  his  own 
head,  Tabitha  would  know  where  to  shelter  hers  ;  or, 
being  homeless  elsewhere,  she  would  take  her  master 
by  the  hand,  and  bring  him  to  her  native  home,  the 
almshouse.  Should  it  ever  be  necessary,  she  loved 
him  well  enough  to  feed  him  with  her  last  morsel,  and 
clothe  him  with  her  under-petticoat.  But  Tabitha  was 
a  queer  old  woman,  and,  though  never  infected  with 
Peter's  flightiness,  had  become  so  accustomed  to  his 
freaks  and  follies,  that  she  viewed  them  all  as  matters 
of  course.  Hearing  him  threaten  to  tear  the  house 
down,  she  looked  quietly  up  from  her  work. 

4  Best  leave  the  kitchen  till  the  last,  Mr.  Peter,' 
said  she. 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  177 

'  The  sooner  we  have  it  all  down  the  better,'  said 
Peter  Goldthwaite.  '  I  am  tired  to  death  of  living  in 
this  cold,  dark,  windy,  smoky,  creaking,  groaning, 
dismal  old  house.  I  shall  feel  like  a  younger  man, 
when  we  get  into  my  splendid  brick  mansion,  as, 
please  Heaven,  we  shall,  by  this  time  next  autumn. 
You  shall  have  a  room  on  the  sunny  side,  old  Tabby, 
finished  and  furnished  as  best  may  suit  your  own 
notions.' 

1 1  should  like  it  pretty  much  such  a  room  as  this 
kitchen,'  answered  Tabitha.  '  It  will  never  be  like 
home  to  me,  till  the  chimney-corner  gets  as  black  with 
smoke  as  this ;  and  that  won't  be  these  hundred  years. 
How  much  do  you  mean  to  lay  out  on  the  house, 
Mr.  Peter  ? ' 

'  What  is  that  to  the  purpose  ?  '  exclaimed  Peter 
loftily.  '  Did  not  my  great-grand-uncle,  Peter  Gold 
thwaite,  who  died  seventy  years  ago,  and  whose 
namesake  I  am,  leave  treasure  enough  to  build  twenty 
such  ? ' 

1 1  can't  say  but  he  did,  Mr.  Peter,'  said  Tabitha, 
threading  her  needle. 

Tabitha  well  understood,  that  Peter  had  reference 
to  an  immense  hoard  of  the  precious  metals,  which 
was  said  to  exist  somewhere  in  the  cellar  or  walls,  or 
under  the  floors,  or  in  some  concealed  closet,  or  other 
out-of-the-way  nook  of  the  house.  This  wealth, 
according  to  tradition,  had  been  accumulated  by  a 
former  Peter  Goldthwaite,  whose  character  seems  to 
have  borne  a  remarkable  similitude  to  that  of  the 
Peter  of  our  story.  Like  him,  he  was  a  wild  pro 
jector,  seeking  to  heap  up  gold  by  the  bushel  and 


178  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

the  cart-load,  instead  of  scraping  it  together,  coin  by 
coin.  Like  Peter  the  second,  too,  his  projects  had 
almost  invariably  failed,  and,  but  for  the  magnificent 
success  of  the  final  one,  would  have  left  him  with 
hardly  a  coat  and  pair  of  breeches  to  his  gaunt  and 
grizzled  person.  Reports  were  various,  as  to  the 
nature  of  his  fortunate  speculation ;  one  intimating, 
that  the  ancient  Peter  had  made  the  gold  by  alchemy ; 
another,  that  he  had  conjured  it  out  of  people's  pockets 
by  the  black  art ;  and  a  third,  still  more  unaccount 
able,  that  the  devil  had  given  him  free  access  to  the 
old  provincial  treasury.  It  was  affirmed,  however, 
that  some  secret  impediment  had  debarred  him  from 
the  enjoyment  of  his  riches,  and  that  he  had  a  motive 
for  concealing  them  from  his  heir,  or,  at  any  rate,  had 
died  without  disclosing  the  place  of  deposit.  The 
present  Peter's  father  had  faith  enough  in  the  story  to 
cause  the  cellar  to  be  dug  over.  Peter  himself  chose 
to  consider  the  legend  as  an  indisputable  truth,  and, 
amid  his  many  troubles,  had  this  one  consolation,  that, 
should  all  other  resources  fail,  he  might  build  up  his 
fortunes  by  tearing  his  house  down.  Yet,  unless  he 
felt  a  lurking  distrust  of  the  golden  tale,  it  is  difficult 
to  account  for  his  permitting  the  paternal  roof  to  stand 
so  long,  since  he  had  never  yet  seen  the  moment, 
when  his  predecessor's  treasure  would  not  have  found 
plenty  of  room  in  his  own  strong  box.  But,  now  was 
the  crisis.  Should  he  delay  the  search  a  little  longer, 
the  house  would  pass  from  the  lineal  heir,  and  with  it 
the  vast  heap  of  gold,  to  remain  in  its  burial-place,  till 
the  ruin  of  the  aged  walls  should  discover  it  to  stran 
gers  of  a  future  generation. 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  179 

'  Yes  ! '  cried  Peter  Goldthwaite,  again  ;  '  to-morrow 
1  will  set  about  it.' 

The  deeper  he  looked  at  the  matter,  the  more  cer 
tain  of  success  grew  Peter.  His  spirits  were  naturally 
so  elastic,  that,  even  now,  in  the  blasted  autumn  of 
his  age,  he  could  often  compete  with  the  spring-time 
gayety  of  other  people.  Enlivened  by  his  brightening 
prospects,  he  began  to  caper  about  the  kitchen  like  a 
hobgoblin,  with  the  queerest  antics  of  his  lean  limbs, 
and  gesticulations  of  his  starved  features.  Nay,  in  the 
exuberance  of  his  feelings,  he  seized  both  of  Tabitha's 
hands,  and  danced  the  old  lady  across  the  floor,  till  the 
oddity  of  her  rheumatic  motions  set  him  into  a  roar  of 
laughter,  which  was  echoed  back  from  the  rooms  and 
chambers,  as  if  Peter  Goldthwaite  were  laughing  in 
every  one.  Finally,  he  bounded  upward,  almost  out 
of  sight,  into  the  smoke  that  clouded  the  roof  of  the 
kitchen,  and,  alighting  safely  on  the  floor  again,  en 
deavored  to  resume  his  customary  gravity. 

'  To-morrow,  at  sunrise,'  he  repeated,  taking  his 
lamp,  to  retire  to  bed,  'I'll  see  whether  this  treasure 
be  hid  in  the  wall  of  the  garret.' 

'And,  as  we're  out  of  wood,  Mr.  Peter,'  said  Tab- 
itha,  puffing  and  panting  with  her  late  gymnastics, 
'  as  fast  as  you  tear  the  house  down,  I  '11  make  a  fire 
with  the  pieces.' 

Gorgeous,  that  night,  were  the  dreams  of  Peter 
Goldthwaite  !  At  one  time,  he  was  turning  a  ponder 
ous  key  in  an  iron  door,  not  unlike  the  door  of  a 
sepulchre,  but  which,  being  opened,  disclosed  a  vault, 
heaped  up  with  gold  coin,  as  plentifully  as  golden  corn 
in  a  granary.  There  were  chased  goblets,  also,  and 


180  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

tureens,  salvers,  dinner-dishes,  and  dish-covers,  of 
gold,  or  silver-gilt,  besides  chains  and  other  jewels, 
incalculably  rich,  though  tarnished  with  the  damps  of 
the  vault ;  for,  of  all  the  wealth  that  was  irrevocably 
lost  to  man,  whether  buried  in  the  earth,  or  sunken  in 
the  sea,  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  found  it  in  this  one 
treasure-place.  Anon,  he  had  returned  to  the  old 
house,  as  poor  as  ever,  and  was  received  at  the  door, 
by  the  gaunt  and  grizzled  figure  of  a  man,  whom  he 
might  have  mistaken  for  himself,  only  that  his  gar 
ments  were  of  a  much  elder  fashion.  But  the  house, 
without  losing  its  former  aspect,  had  been  changed 
into  a  palace  of  the  precious  metals.  The  floors, 
walls,  and  ceilings,  were  of  burnished  silver ;  the 
doors,  the  window-frames,  the  cornices,  the  balus 
trades,  and  the  steps  of  the  staircase,  of  pure  gold ; 
and  silver,  with  gold  bottoms,  were  the  chairs,  and 
gold,  standing  on  silver  legs,  the  high  chests  of 
drawers,  and  silver  the  bedsteads,  with  blankets  of 
woven  gold,  and  sheets  of  silver  tissue.  The  house 
had  evidently  been  transmuted  by  a  single  touch ; 
for  it  retained  all  the  marks  that  Peter  remembered, 
but  in  gold  or  silver,  instead  of  wood  ;  and  the  initials 
of  his  name,  which,  when  a  boy,  he  had  cut  in  the 
wooden  door-post,  remained  as  deep  in  the  pillar  of 
gold.  A  happy  man  would  have  been  Peter  Gold 
thwaite,  except  for  a  certain  ocular  deception,  which, 
whenever  he  glanced  backward,  caused  the  house  to 
darken  from  its  glittering  magnificence  into  the  sordid 
gloom  of  yesterday. 

Up,  betimes,   rose  Peter,  seized  an  axe,  hammer, 
and  saw,  which  he   had  placed   by  his  bedside,  and 


181 

hied  him  to  the  garret.  It  was  but  scantily  lighted 
up,  as  yet,  by  the  frosty  fragments  of  a  sunbeam, 
which  began  to  glimmer  through  the  almost  opaque 
Lull's  eyes  of  the  window.  A  moralizer  might  find 
abundant  themes  for  his  speculative  and  impracticable 
wisdom  in  a  garret.  There  is  the  limbo  of  departed 
fashions,  aged  trifles  of  a  day,  and  whatever  was 
valuable  only  to  one  generation  of  men,  and  which 
passed  to  the  garret  when  that  generation  passed  to 
the  grave,  not  for  safe  keeping,  but  to  be  out  of  the 
way.  Peter  saw  piles  of  yellow  and  musty  account- 
books,  in  parchment  covers,  wherein  creditors,  long 
dead  and  buried,  had  written  the  names  of  dead  and 
buried  debtors,  in  ink  now  so  faded,  that  their  moss- 
grown  tombstones  were  more  legible.  He  found  old, 
moth-eaten  garments  all  in  rags  and  tatters,  or  Peter 
would  have  put  them  on.  Here  was  a  naked  and 
rusty  sword,  not  a  sword  of  service,  but  a  gentleman's 
small  French  rapier,  which  had  never  left  its  scabbard 
till  it  lost  it.  Here  were  canes  of  twenty  different 
sorts,  but  no  gold-headed  ones,  and  shoe-buckles  of 
various  pattern  and  material,  but  not  silver,  nor  set 
with  precious  stones.  Here  was  a  large  box  full  of 
shoes,  with  high  heels  and  peaked  toes.  Here,  on  a 
shelf,  were  a  multitude  of  phials,  half  filled  with  old 
apothecary's  stuff,  which,  when  the  other  half  had 
done  its  business  on  Peter's  ancestors,  had  been 
brought  hither  from  the  death-chamber.  Here,  —  not 
to  give  a  longer  inventory  of  articles  that  will  never  be 
put  up  at  auction,  —  was  the  fragment  of  a  full-length 
looking-glass,  which,  by  the  dust  and  dimness  of  its 
surface,  made  the  picture  of  these  old  things  look 
VOL.  n.  12 


182  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

older  than  the  reality.  When  Peter,  not  knowing  that 
there  was  a  mirror  there,  caught  the  faint  traces  of  his 
own  figure,  he  partly  imagined  that  the  former  Peter 
Goldthwaite  had  come  back,  either  to  assist  or  impede 
his  search  for  the  hidden  wealth.  And  at  that  moment 
a  strange  notion  glimmered  through  his  brain,  that  he 
was  the  identical  Peter  who  had  concealed  the  gold, 
and  ought  to  know  whereabout  it  lay.  This,  however, 
he  had  unaccountably  forgotten. 

4  Well,  Mr.  Peter ! '  cried  Tabitha,  on  the  garret 
stairs.  '  Have  you  torn  the  house  down  enough  to 
heat  the  tea-kettle  ?  ' 

4  Not  yet,  old  Tabby,'  answered  Peter ;  '  but  that's 
soon  done,  —  as  you  shall  see.' 

With  the  word  in  his  mouth,  he  uplifted  the  axe,  and 
laid  about  him  so  vigorously,  that  the  dust  flew,  the 
boards  crashed,  and,  in  a  twinkling,  the  old  woman 
had  an  apron  full  of  broken  rubbish. 

'We  shall  get  our  winter's  wood  cheap,'  quoth 
Tabitha. 

The  good  work  being  thus  commenced,  Peter  beat 
down  all  before  him,  smiting  and  hewing  at  the  joists 
and  timbers,  unclenching  spike-nails,  ripping  and 
tearing  away  boards,  with  a  tremendous  racket,  from 
morning  till  night.  He  took  care,  however,  to  leave 
the  outside  shell  of  the  house  untouched,  so  that  the 
neighbors  might  not  suspect  what  was  going  on. 

Never,  in  any  of  his  vagaries,  though  each  had 
made  him  happy  while  it  lasted,  had  Peter  been  hap 
pier  than  now.  Perhaps,  after  all,  there  was  something 
in  Peter  Goldthwaite's  turn  of  mind,  which  brought 
him  an  inward  recompense  for  all  the  external  evil 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  183 

that  it  caused.  If  he  were  poor,  ill  clad,  even  hungry, 
and  exposed,  as  it  were,  to  be  utterly  annihilated  by 
a  precipice  of  impending  ruin,  yet  only  his  body 
remained  in  these  miserable  circumstances,  while  his 
aspiring  soul  enjoyed  the  sunshine  of  a  bright  futurity. 
It  was  his  nature  to  be  always  young,  and  the  tendency 
of  his  mode  of  life  to  keep  him  so.  Gray  hairs  were 
nothing,  no,  nor  wrinkles,  nor  infirmity ;  he  might  look 
old,  indeed,  and.  be  somewhat  disagreeably  connected 
with  a  gaunt  old  figure,  much  the  worse  for  wear ;  but 
the  true,  the  essential  Peter,  was  a  young  man  of  high 
hopes,  just  entering  on  the  world.  At  the  kindling  of 
each  new  fire,  his  burnt-out  youth  rose  afresh  from  the 
old  embers  and  ashes.  It  rose  exulting  now.  Having 
lived  thus  long,  —  not  too  long,  but  just  to  the  right 
age,  —  a  susceptible  bachelor,  with  warm  and  tender 
dreams,  he  resolved,  so  soon  as  the  hidden  gold  should 
flash  to  light,  to  go  a  wooing,  and  win  the  love  of  the 
fairest  maid  in  town.  What  heart  could  resist  him  ? 
Happy  Peter  Goldthwaite  ! 

Eveiy  evening,  —  as  Peter  had  long  absented  him 
self  from  his  former  lounging-places,  at  insurance 
offices,  news-rooms,  and  bookstores,  and  as  the  honor 
of  his  company  was  seldom  requested  in  private  cir 
cles,  —  he  and  Tabitha  used  to  sit  down  sociably  by 
the  kitchen  hearth.  This  was  always  heaped  plenti 
fully  with  the  rubbish  of  his  day's  labor.  As  the 
foundation  of  the  fire,  there  would  be  a  goodly  sized 
backlog  of  red  oak,  which,  after  being  sheltered  from 
rain  or  damp  above  a  century,  still  hissed  with  the 
heat,  and  distilled  streams  of  water  from  each  end,  as 
if  the  tree  had  been  cut  down  within  a  week  or  two. 


184  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Next,  there  were  large  sticks,  sound,  black  and  heavy, 
which  had  lost  the  principle  of  decay,  and  were 
indestructible  except  by  fire,  wherein  they  glowed 
like  red-hot  bars  of  iron.  On  this  solid  basis,  Tabitha 
would  rear  a  lighter  structure,  composed  of  the  splin 
ters  of  door-panels,  ornamented  mouldings,  and  such 
quick  combustibles,  which  caught  like  straw,  and 
threw  a  brilliant  blaze  high  up  the  spacious  flue, 
making  its  sooty  sides  visible  almost  to  the  chimney- 
top.  Meantime,  the  gloom  of  the  old  kitchen  would 
be  chased  out  of  the  cobwebbed  corners,  and  away 
from  the  dusky  cross-beams  overhead,  and  driven 
nobody  could  tell  whither,  while  Peter  smiled  like  a 
gladsome  man,  and  Tabitha  seemed  a  picture  of  com 
fortable  age.  All  this,  of  course,  was  but  an  emblem 
of  the  bright  fortune,  which  the  destruction  of  the 
house  would  shed  upon  its  occupants. 

While  the  dry  pine  was  flaming  and  crackling,  like 
an  irregular  discharge  of  fairy  musketry,  Peter  sat 
looking  and  listening,  in  a  pleasant  state  of  excitement. 
But,  when  the  brief  blaze  and  uproar  were  succeeded 
by  the  dark  red  glow,  the  substantial  heat,  and  the 
deep  singing  sound,  which  were  to  last  throughout  the 
evening,  his  humor  became  talkative.  One  night,  the 
hundredth  time,  he  teased  Tabitha  to  tell  him  some 
thing  new  about  his  great-grand-uncle. 

4  You  have  been  sitting  in  that  chimney-corner  fifty- 
five  years,  old  Tabby,  and  must  have  heard  many  a 
tradition  about  him,'  said  Peter.  '  Did  not  you  tell 
me,  that,  when  you  first  came  to  .the  house,  there 
was  an  old  woman  sitting  where  you  sit  now,  who  had 
been  housekeeper  to  the  famous  Peter  Goldthwaite  ? ' 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  185 

1  So  there  was,  Mr.  Peter,'  answered  Tabitha ;  '  and 
she  was  near  about  a  hundred  years  old.  She  used  to 
say,  that  she  and  old  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  often  spent 
a  sociable  evening  by  the  kitchen  fire,  —  pretty  much 
as  you  and  I  are  doing  now,  Mr.  Peter.' 

4  The  old  fellow  must  have  resembled  me  in  more 
points  than  one,'  said  Peter,  complacently,  '  or  he 
never  would  have  grown  so  rich.  But,  methinks,  he 
might  have  invested  the  money  better  than  he  did,  — 
no  interest !  —  nothing  but  good  security  !  —  and  the 
house  to  be  torn  down  to  come  at  it !  What  made 
him  hide  it  so  snug,  Tabby  ? ' 

'  Because  he  could  not  spend  it,'  said  Tabitha  ;  l  for, 
as  often  as  he  went  to  unlock  the  chest,  the  Old 
Scratch  came  behind  and  caught  his  arm.  The 
money,  they  say,  was  paid  Peter  out  of  his  purse ; 
and  he  wanted  Peter  to  give  him  a  deed  of  this  house 
and  land,  which  Peter  swore  he  would  not  do.' 

4  Just  as  I  swore  to  John  Brown,  my  old  partner,' 
remarked  Peter.  'But  this  is  all  nonsense,  Tabby! 
I  don't  believe  the  story.' 

4  Well,  it  may  not  be  just  the  truth,'  said  Tabitha  ; 
'  for  some  folks  say,  that  Peter  did  make  over  the 
house  to  the  Old  Scratch;  and  that's  the  reason  it 
has  always  been  so  unlucky  to  them  that  lived  in  it. 
And  as  soon  as  Peter  had  given  him  the  deed,  the 
chest  flew  open,  and  Peter  caught  up  a  handful  of 
the  gold.  But,  lo  and  behold!  —  there  was  nothing 
in  his  fist  but  a  parcel  of  old  rags.' 

4  Hold  your  tongue,  you  silly  old  Tabby  ! '  cried 
Peter,  in  great  wrath.  4  They  were  as  good  golden 
guineas  as  ever  bore  the  effigies  of  the  king  of  Eng- 


186  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

land.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  recollect  the  whole  cir 
cumstance,  and  how  I,  or  old  Peter,  or  whoever  it  was, 
thrust  in  my  hand,  or  his  hand,  and  drew  it  out,  all  of 
a  blaze  with  gold.  Old  rags,  indeed  ! ' 

But  it  was  not  an  old  woman's  legend  that  would 
discourage  Peter  Goldthwaite.  All  night  long,  he  slept 
among  pleasant  dreams,  and  awoke  at  daylight  with 
a  joyous  throb  of  the  heart,  which  few  are  fortunate 
enough  to  feel  beyond  their  boyhood.  Day  after  day, 
he  labored  hard,  without  wasting  a  moment,  except  at 
meal-times,  when  Tabitha  summoned  him  to  the  pork 
and  cabbage,  or  such  other  sustenance  as  she  had 
picked  up,  or  Providence  had  sent  them.  Being  a 
truly  pious  man,  Peter  never  failed  to  ask  a  blessing ; 
if  the  food  were  none  of  the  best,  then  so  much  the 
more  earnestly,  as  it  was  more  needed ;  —  nor  to 
return  thanks,  if  the  dinner  had  been  scanty,  yet  for 
the  good  appetite,  which  was  better  than  a  sick 
stomach  at  a  feast.  Then  did  he  hurry  back  to  his 
toil,  and,  in  a  moment,  was  lost  to  sight  in  a  cloud  of 
dust  from  the  old  walls,  though  sufficiently  perceptible 
to  the  ear,  by  the  clatter  which  he  raised  in  the  midst 
of  it.  How  enviable  is  the  consciousness  of  being 
usefully  employed  !  Nothing  troubled  Peter  ;  or  noth 
ing  but  those  phantoms  of  the  mind,  which  seem  like 
vague  recollections,  yet  have  also  the  aspect  of  pre 
sentiments.  He  often  paused,  with  his  axe  uplifted  in 
the  air,  and  said  to  himself,  —  'Peter  Goldthwaite,  did 
you  never  strike  this  blow  before  ? '  —  or,  '  Peter, 
what  need  of  tearing  the  whole  house  down  ?  Think, 
a  little  while,  and  you  will  remember  where  the  gold  is 
hidden.'  Days  and  weeks  passed  on,  however,  without 


187 


any  remarkable  discovery.  Sometimes,  indeed,  a  lean, 
gray  rat  peeped  forth  at  the  lean,  gray  man,  wondering 
what  devil  had  got  into  the  old  house,  which  had 
always  been  so  peaceable  till  now.  And,  occasionally, 
Peter  sympathized  with  the  sorrows  of  a  female  mouse, 
who  had  brought  five  or  six  pretty,  little,  soft,  and 
delicate  young  ones  into  the  world,  just  in  time  to  see 
them  crushed  by  its  ruin.  But,  as  yet,  no  treasure  ! 

By  this  time,  Peter,  being  as  determined  as  Fate, 
and  as  diligent  as  Time,  had  made  an  end  with  the 
uppermost  regions,  and  got  down  to  the  second  story, 
where  he  was  busy  in  one  of  the  front  chambers.  It 
had  formerly  been  the  state  bedchamber,  and  was 
honored  by  tradition  as  the  sleeping  apartment  of 
Governor  Dudley,  and  many  other  eminent  guests. 
The  furniture  was  gone.  There  were  remnants  of 
faded  and  tattered  paper-hangings,  but  larger  spaces 
of  bare  wall,  ornamented  with  charcoal  sketches, 
chiefly  of  people's  heads  in  profile.  These  being 
specimens  of  Peter's  youthful  genius,  it  went  more 
to  his  heart  to  obliterate  them,  than  if  they  had  been 
pictures  on  a  church  wall  by  Michael  Angelo.  One 
sketch,  however,  and  that  the  best  one,  affected  him 
differently.  It  represented  a  ragged  man,  partly  sup 
porting  himself  on  a  spade,  and  bending  his  lean  body 
over  a  hole  in  the  earth,  with  one  hand  extended  to 
grasp  something  that  he  had  found.  But,  close  behind 
him,  with  a  fiendish  laugh  on  his  features,  appeared  a 
figure  with  horns,  a  tufted  tail,  and  a  cloven  hoof. 

4  Avaunt,  Satan  ! '  cried  Peter.  '  The  man  shall 
have  his  gold  ! ' 

Uplifting  his  axe,  he  hit  the  horned  gentleman  such 


188  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

a  blow  on  the  head,  as  not  only  demolished  him,  but 
the  treasure-seeker  also,  and  caused  the  whole  scene 
to  vanish  like  magic.  Moreover,  his  axe  broke  quite 
through  the  plaster  and  laths,  and  discovered  a  cavity. 

4  Mercy  on  us,  Mr.  Peter,  are  you  quarrelling  with 
the  Old  Scratch  ? '  said  Tabitha,  who  was  seeking  some 
fuel  to  put  under  the  dinner-pot. 

Without  answering  the  old  woman,  Peter  broke 
down  a  further  space  of  the  wall,  and  laid  open  a 
small  closet  or  cupboard,  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace, 
about  breast-high  from  the  ground.  It  contained  no 
thing  but  a  brass  lamp,  covered  with  verdigris,  and  a 
dusty  piece  of  parchment.  While  Peter  inspected  the 
latter,  Tabitha  seized  the  lamp,  and  began  to  rub  it 
with  her  apron. 

'  There  is  no  use  in  rubbing  it,  Tabitha,'  said  Peter. 
'  It  is  not  Aladdin's  lamp,  though  I  take  it  to  be  a 
token  of  as  much  luck.  Look  here,  Tabby  ! ' 

Tabitha  took  the  parchment,  and  held  it  close  to  her 
nose,  which  was  saddled  with  a  pair  of  iron-bound 
spectacles.  But  no  sooner  had  she  begun  to  puzzle 
over  it,  than  she  burst  into  a  chuckling  laugh,  holding 
both  her  hands  against  her  sides. 

4  You  can 't  make  a  fool  of  the  old  woman  ! '  cried 
she.  4  This  is  your  own  handwriting,  Mr.  Peter!  the 
same  as  in  the  letter  you  sent  me  from  Mexico.' 

4  There  is  certainly  a  considerable  resemblance,' 
said  Peter,  again  examining  the  parchment.  4  But  you 
know  yourself,  Tabby,  that  this  closet  must  have  been 
plastered  up  before  you  came  to  the  house,  or  I  came 
into  the  world.  No,  this  is  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's 
writing ;  these  columns  of  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  189 

are  his  figures,  denoting  the  amount  of  the  treasure  ; 
and  this,  at  the  bottom,  is,  doubtless,  a  reference  to  the 
place  of  concealment.  But  the  ink  has  either  faded  or 
pealed  off,  so  that  it  is  absolutely  illegible.  What  a 
pity !  ^ 

'  Well,  this  lamp  is  as  good  as  new.  That's  some 
comfort,'  said  Tabitha. 

4  A  lamp  ! '  thought  Peter.  '  That  indicates  light  on 
my  researches.' 

For  the  present,  Peter  felt  more  inclined  to  ponder 
on  this  discovery,  than  to  resume  his  labors.  After 
Tabitha  had  gone  down  stairs,  he  stood  poring  over  the 
parchment,  at  one  of  the  front  windows,  which  was  so 
obscured  with  dust,  that  the  sun  could  barely  throw  an 
uncertain  shadow  of  the  casement  across  the  floor. 
Peter  forced  it  open,  and  looked  out  upon  the  great 
street  of  the  town,  while  the  sun  looked  in  at  his  old 
house.  The  air,  though  mild,  and  even  warm,  thrilled 
Peter  as  with  a  dash  of  water. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  the  January  thaw.  The  snow 
lay  deep  upon  the  house-tops,  but  was  rapidly  dissolv 
ing  into  millions  of  water-drops,  which  sparkled  down 
wards  through  the  sunshine,  with  the  noise  of  a  summer 
shower  beneath  the  eaves.  Along  the  street,  the  trod 
den  snow  was  as  hard  and  solid  as  a  pavement  of 
white  marble,  and  had  not  yet  grown  moist  in  the 
spring-like  temperature.  But,  when  Peter  thrust  forth 
his  head,  he  saw  that  the  inhabitants,  if  not  the  town, 
were  already  thawed  out  by  this  warm  day,  after  two 
or  three  weeks  of  winter  weather.  It  gladdened  him, 
—  a  gladness  with  a  sigh  breathing  through  it,  —  to 
see  the  stream  of  ladies,  gliding  along  the  slippery 


190  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

sidewalks,  with  their  red  cheeks  set  off  by  quilted 
hoods,  boas,  and  sable  capes,  like  roses  amidst  a  new 
kind  of  foliage.  The  sleigh-bells  jingled  to  and  fro 
continually,  sometimes  announcing  the  arrival  of  a 
sleigh  from  Vermont,  laden  with  the  frozen  bodies  of 
porkers,  or  sheep,  and  perhaps  a  deer  or  two ;  some 
times  of  a  regular  market-man,  with  chickens,  geese, 
and  turkeys,  comprising  the  whole  colony  of  a  barn 
yard  ;  and  sometimes  of  a  farmer  and  his  dame,  who 
had  come  to  town  partly  for  the  ride,  partly  to  go  a 
shopping,  and  partly  for  the  sale  of  some  eggs  and 
butter.  This  couple  rode  in  an  old-fashioned  square 
sleigh,  which  had  served  them  twenty  winters,  and 
stood  twenty  summers  in  the  sun  beside  their  door. 
Now,  a  gentleman  and  lady  skimmed  the  snow,  in  an 
elegant  car,  shaped  somewhat  like  a  cockle-shell. 
Now,  a  stage-sleigh,  with  its  cloth  curtains  thrust  aside 
to  admit  the  sun,  dashed  rapidly  down  the  street, 
whirling  in  and  out  among  -ihe  vehicles  that  obstructed 
its  passage.  Now  came,  round  a  corner,  the  similitude 
of  Noah's  ark,  on  runners,  being  an  immense  open 
sleigh,  with  seats  for  fifty  people,  and  drawn  by  a 
dozen  horses.  This  spacious  receptacle  was  populous 
with  merry  maids  and  merry  bachelors,  merry  girls 
and  boys,  and  merry  old  folks,  all  alive  with  fun,  and 
grinning  to  the  full  width  of  their  mouths.  They  kept 
up  a  buzz  of  babbling  voices  and  low  laughter,  and 
sometimes  burst  into  a  deep,  joyous  shout,  which  the 
spectators  answered  with  three  cheers,  while  a  gang 
of  roguish  boys  let  drive  their  snow-balls  right  among 
the  pleasure  party.  The  sleigh  passed  on,  and,  when 
concealed  by  a  bend  of  the  street,  was  still  audible  by 
a  distant  cry  of  merriment. 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  191 

Never  had  Peter  beheld  a  livelier  scene  than  was 
constituted  by  all  these  accessories  :  the  bright  sun ; 
the  flashing  water-drops ;  the  gleaming  snow ;  the 
cheerful  multitude  ;  the  variety  of  rapid  vehicles ; 
and  the  jingle-jangle  of  merry  bells,  which  made  the 
heart  dance  to  their  music.  Nothing  dismal  was  to 
be  seen,  except  that  peaked  piece  of  antiquity,  Peter 
Goldthwaite's  house,  which  might  well  look  sad  exter 
nally,  since  such  .a  terrible  consumption  was  preying 
on  its  insides.  And  Peter's  gaunt  figure,  half  visible 
in  the  projecting  second  story,  was  worthy  of  his 
house. 

'  Peter !  How  goes  it,  friend  Peter  ? '  cried  a  voice 
across  the  street,  as  Peter  was  drawing  in  his  head. 
4  Look  out  here,  Peter  ! ' 

Peter  looked,  and  saw  his  old  partner,  Mr.  John 
Brown,  on  the  opposite  sidewalk,  portly  and  com 
fortable,  with  his  furred  cloak  thrown  open,  disclosing 
a  handsome  surtout  beneath.  His  voice  had  directed 
the  attention  of  the  whole  town  to  Peter  Goldthwaite's 
window,  and  to  the  dusty  scarecrow  which  appeared 
at  it. 

'  I  say,  Peter,'  cried  Mr.  Brown  again,  c  what  the 
devil  are  you  about  there,  that  I  hear  such  a  racket, 
whenever  I  pass  by  ?  You  are  repairing  the  old 
house,  I  suppose,  —  making  a  new  one  of  it, — 
eh?' 

4  Too  late  for  that,  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Brown,'  replied 
Peter.  '  If  I  make  it  new,  it  will  be  new  inside  and 
out,  from  the  cellar  upwards.' 

'  Had  not  you  better  let  me  take  the  job  ? '  said 
Mr.  Brown,  significantly. 


192  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

4  Not  yet ! '  answered  Peter,  hastily  shutting  the 
window ;  for,  ever  since  he  had  been  in  search  of  the 
treasure,  he  hated  to  have  people  stare  at  him. 

As  he  drew  back,  ashamed  of  his  outward  poverty, 
yet  proud  of  the  secret  wealth  within  his  grasp,  a 
haughty  smile  shone  out  on  Peter's  visage,  with  pre 
cisely  the  effect  of  the  dim  sunbeams  in  the  squalid 
chamber.  He  endeavored  to  assume  such  a  mien  as 
his  ancestor  had  probably  worn,  when  he  gloried  in 
the  building  of  a  strong  house  for  a  home  to  many 
generations  of  his  posterity.  But  the  chamber  was 
very  dark  to  his  snow-dazzled  eyes,  and  very  dismal 
too,  in  contrast  with  the  living  scene  that  he  had  just 
looked  upon.  His  brief  glimpse  into  the  street  had 
given  him  a  forcible  impression  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  world  kept  itself  cheerful  and  prosperous, 
by  social  pleasures  and  an  intercourse  of  business, 
while  he,  in  seclusion,  was  pursuing  an  object  that 
might  possibly  be  a  phantasm,  by  a  method  which 
most  people  would  call  madness.  It  is  one  great 
advantage  of  a  gregarious  mode  of  life,  that  each 
person  rectifies  his  mind  by  other  minds,  and  squares 
his  conduct  to  that  of  his  neighbors,  so  as  seldom  to 
be  lost  in  eccentricity.  Peter  Goldthwaitc  had  exposed 
himself  to  this  influence,  by  merely  looking  out  of  the 
window.  For  a  while,  he  doubted  whether  there  were 
any  hidden  chest  of  gold,  and,  in  that  case,  whether 
it  was  so  exceedingly  wise  to  tear  the  house  down, 
only  to  be  convinced  of  its  non-existence. 

But  this  was  momentary.  Peter,  the  Destroyer, 
resumed  the  task  which  fate  had  assigned  him,  nor 
faltered  again,  till  it  was  accomplished.  In  the  course 


193 


of  his  search,  he  met  with  many  things  that  are  usually 
found  in  the  ruins  of  an  old  house,  and  also  with  some 
that  are  not.  What  seemed  most  to  the  purpose,  was 
a  rusty  key,  which  had  been  thrust  into  a  chink  of 
the  wall,  with  a  wooden  label  appended  to  the  handle, 
bearing  the  initials,  P.  G.  Another  singular  dis 
covery  was  that  of  a  bottle  of  wine,  walled  up  in  an 
old  oven.  A  tradition  ran  in  the  family,  that  Peter's 
grandfather,  a  jovial  officer  in  the  old  French  war, 
had  set  aside  many  dozens  of  the  precious  liquor,  for 
the  benefit  of  topers  then  unborn.  Peter  needed  no 
cordial  to  sustain  his  hopes,  and  therefore  kept  the 
wine  to  gladden  his  success.  Many  half-pence  did 
he  pick  up,  that  had  been  lost  through  the  cracks  of 
the  floor,  and  some  few  Spanish  coins,  and  the  half 
of  a  broken  sixpence,  which  had  doubtless  been  a 
love-token.  There  was  likewise  a  silver  coronation 
medal  of  George  the  Third.  But,  old  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite's  strong  box  fled  from  one  dark  corner  to 
another,  or  otherwise  eluded  the  second  Peter's 
clutches,  till,  should  he  seek  much  further,  he  must 
burrow  into  the  earth. 

We  will  not  follow  him  in  his  triumphant  progress, 
step  by  step.  Suffice  it,  that  Peter  worked  like  a 
steam  engine,  and  finished,  in  that  one  winter,  the 
job,  which  all  the  former  inhabitants  of  the  house, 
with  time  and  the  elements  to  aid  them,  had  only  half 
done  in  a  centuiy.  Except  the  kitchen,  every  room 
and  chamber  was  now  gutted.  The  house  was  nothing 
but  a  shell,  —  the  apparition  of  a  house, —  as  unreal 
as  the  painted  edifices  of  a  theatre.  It  was  like  the 
perfect  rind  of  a  great  cheese,  in  which  a  mouse  had 


194  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

dwelt  and  nibbled,  till  it  was  a  cheese  no  more.  And 
Peter  was  the  mouse. 

What  Peter  had  torn  down,  Tabitha  had  burnt  up : 
for  she  wisely  considered,  that,  without  a  house,  they 
should  need  no  wood  to  warm  it ;  and  therefore  econ 
omy  was  nonsense.  Thus  the  whole  house  might  be 
said  to  have  dissolved  in  smoke,  and  flown  up  among 
the  clouds,  through  the  great  black  flue  of  the  kitchen 
chimney.  It  wras  an  admirable  parallel  to  the  feat  of 
the  man  who  jumped  down  his  own  throat. 

On  the  night  between  the  last  day  of  winter  and 
the  first  of  spring,  every  chink  and  cranny  had  been 
ransacked,  except  within  the  precincts  of  the  kitchen. 
This  fated  evening  was  an  ugly  one.  A  snow-storm 
had  set  in  some  hours  before,  and  was  still  driven  and 
tossed  about  the  atmosphere  by  a  real  hurricane, 
which  fought  against  the  house,  as  if  the  prince  of  the 
air,  in  person,  were  putting  the  final  stroke  to  Peter's 
labors.  The  framework  being  so  much  weakened, 
and  the  inward  props  removed,  it  would  have  been  no 
marvel,  if,  in  some  stronger  wrestle  of  the  blast,  the 
rotten  walls  of  the  edifice,  and  all  the  peaked  roofs, 
had  come  crashing  down  upon  the  owner's  head. 
He,  however,  was  careless  of  the  peril,  but  as  wild 
and  restless  as  the  night  itself,  or  as  the  flame  that 
quivered  up  the  chimney,  at  each  roar  of  the  tem 
pestuous  wind. 

1  The  wine,  Tabitha ! '  he  cried.  l  My  grandfather's 
rich  old  wine  !  We  will  drink  it  now  ! ' 

Tabitha  arose  from  her  smoke-blackened  bench  in 
the  chimney-corner,  and  placed  the  bottle  before  Peter, 
close  beside  the  old  brass  lamp,  which  had  likewise 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  195 

been  the  prize  of  his  researches.  Peter  held  it  before 
his  eyes,  and  looking  through  the  liquid  medium, 
beheld  the  kitchen  illuminated  with  a  golden  glory, 
which  also  enveloped  Tabitha,  and  gilded  her  silver 
hair,  and  converted  her  mean  garments  into  robes  of 
queenly  splendor.  It  reminded  him  of  his  golden 
dream. 

4  Mr.  Peter,'  remarked  Tabitha,  '  must  the  wine  be 
drunk  before  the  money  is  found  ? ' 

4  The  money  is  found ! '  exclaimed  Peter,  with  a 
sort  of  fierceness.  '  The  chest  is  within  my  reach. 
I  will  not  sleep,  till  I  have  turned  this  key  in  the  rusty 
lock.  But,  first  of  all,  let  us  drink  ! ' 

There  being  no  corkscrew  in  the  house,  he  smote 
the  neck  of  the  bottle  with  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's 
rusty  key,  and  decapitated  the  sealed  cork  at  a  single 
blow.  He  then  filled  two  little  china  teacups,  which 
Tabitha  had  brought  from  the  cupboard.  So  clear 
and  brilliant  was  this  aged  wine,  that  it  shone  within 
the  cups,  and  rendered  the  sprig  of  scarlet  flowers, 
at  the  bottom  of  each,  more  distinctly  visible,  than 
when  there  had  been  no  wine  there.  Its  rich  and 
delicate  perfume  wasted  itself  round  the  kitchen. 

'  Drink,  Tabitha  ! '  cried  Peter.  '  Blessings  on  the 
honest  old  fellow,  who  set  aside  this  good  liquor  for 
you  and  me !  And  here 's  to  Peter  Goldthwaite's 
memory ! ' 

'  And  good  cause  have  we  to  remember  him,'  quoth 
Tabitha,  as  she  drank. 

How  many  years,  and  through  what  changes  of 
fortune,  and  various  calamity,  had  that  bottle  hoarded 
up  its  effervescent  joy,  to  be  quaffed  at  last  by  two 


196  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

such  boon  companions  !  A  portion  of  the  happiness 
of  a  former  age  had  been  kept  for  them,  and  was 
now  set  free,  in  a  crowd  of  rejoicing  visions,  to  sport 
amid  the  storm  and  desolation  of  the  present  time. 
Until  they  have  finished  the  bottle,  we  must  turn  our 
eyes  elsewhere. 

It  so  chanced,  that,  on  this  stormy  night,  Mr.  John 
Brown  found  himself  ill  at  ease,  in  his  wire-cushioned 
arm-chair,  by  the  glowing  grate  of  anthracite,  which 
heated  his  handsome  parlor.  He  was  naturally  a 
good  sort  of  a  man,  and  kind  and  pitiful,  whenever 
the  misfortunes  of  others  happened  to  reach  his  heart 
through  the  padded  vest  of  his  own  prosperity.  This 
evening,  he  had  thought  much  about  his  old  partner, 
Peter  Goldthwaite,  his  strange  vagaries,  and  continual 
ill  luck,  the  poverty  of  his  dwelling,  at  Mr.  Brown's 
last  visit,  and  Peter's  crazed  and  haggard  aspect,  when 
he  had  talked  with  him  at  the  window. 

'  Poor  fellow  ! '  thought  Mr.  John  Brown.  '  Poor, 
crackbrained  Peter  Goldthwaite  !  For  old  acquaint 
ance'  sake,  I  ought  to  have  taken  care  that  he  was 
comfortable,  this  rough  winter.' 

These  feelings  grew  so  powerful,  that,  in  spite  of 
the  inclement  weather,  he  resolved  to  visit  Peter 
Goldthwaite  immediately.  The  strength  of  the  im 
pulse  was  really  singular.  Every  shriek  of  the  blast 
seemed  a  summons,  or  would  have  seemed  so,  had 
Mr.  Brown  been  accustomed  to  hear  the  echoes  of  his 
own  fancy  in  the  wind.  Much  amazed  at  such  active 
benevolence,  he  huddled  himself  in  his  cloak,  muffled 
his  throat  and  ears  in  comforters  and  handkerchiefs, 
and  thus  fortified,  bade  defiance  to  the  .tempest.  But 


the  powers  of  the  air  had  rather  the  best  of  the  battle. 
Mr.  Brown  was  just  weathering  the  corner,  by  Peter 
Goldthwaite's  house,  when  the  hurricane  caught  him 
off  his  feet,  tossed  him  face  downward  into  a  snow 
bank,  and  proceeded  to  bury  his  protuberant  part 
beneath  fresh  drifts.  There  seemed  little  hope  of  his 
re-appearance,  earlier  than  the  next  thaw.  At  the 
same  moment,  his  hat  was  snatched  away,  and  whirled 
aloft  into  some  far  distant  region,  whence  no  tidings 
have  as  yet  returned. 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Brown  contrived  to  burrow  a  pas 
sage  through  the  snow-drift,  and,  with  his  bare  head 
bent  against  the  storm,  floundered  onward  to  Peter's 
door.  There  was  such  a  creaking,  and  groaning,  and 
rattling,  and  such  an  ominous  shaking  throughout  the 
crazy  edifice,  that  the  loudest  rap  would  have  been 
inaudible  to  those  within.  He  therefore  entered,  with 
out  ceremony,  and  groped  his  way  to  the  kitchen. 

His  intrusion,  even  there,  was  unnoticed.  Peter  and 
Tabitha  stood  with  their  backs  to  the  door,  stooping 
over  a  large  chest,  which,  apparently,  they  had  just 
dragged  from  a  cavity,  or  concealed  closet,  on  the  left 
side  of  the  chimney.  By  the  lamp  in  the  old  woman's 
hand,  Mr.  Brown  saw  that  the  chest  was  barred  and 
clamped  with  iron,  strengthened  with  iron  plates,  and 
studded  with  iron  nails,  so  as  to  be  a  fit  receptacle  in 
which  the  wealth  of  one  century  might  be  hoarded  up 
for  the  wants  of  another.  Peter  Goldthwaite  was  in 
serting  a  key  into  the  lock. 

4  Oh,  Tabitha ! '  cried  he,  with  tremulous  rapture, 
4  how  shall  I  endure  the  effulgence  ?  The  gold !  — 

VOL.  II.  13 


198  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  bright,  bright  gold !  Methinks  I  can  remember  my 
last  glance  at  it,  just  as  the  iron-plated  lid  fell  down. 
And  ever  since,  being  seventy  years,  it  has  been 
blazing  in  secret,  and  gathering  its  splendor  against 
this  glorious  moment!  It  will  flash  upon  us  like  the 
noon-day  sun ! ' 

4  Then  shade  your  eyes,  Mr.  Peter ! '  said  Tabitha, 
with  somewhat  less  patience  than  usual.  '  But,  for 
mercy's  sake,  do  turn  the  key  ! ' 

And,  with  a  strong  effort  of  both  hands,  Peter  did 
force  the  rusty  key  through  the  intricacies  of  the  rusty 
lock.  Mr.  Brown,  in  the  mean  time,  had  drawn  near, 
and  thrust  his  eager  visage  between  those  of  the  other 
two,  at  the  instant  that  Peter  threw  up  the  lid.  No 
sudden  blaze  illuminated  the  kitchen. 

4  What 's  here  ?  '  exclaimed  Tabitha,  adjusting  her 
spectacles,  and  holding  the  lamp  over  the  open  chest. 
'  Old  Peter  Goldth wake's  hoard  of  old  rags.' 

1  Pretty  much  so,  Tabby,'  said  Mr.  Brown,  lifting  a 
handful  of  the  treasure. 

Oh,  what  a  ghost  of  dead  and  buried  wealth  had 
Peter  Goldth waite  raised,  to  scare  himself  out  of  his 
scanty  wits  withal !  Here  was  the  semblance  of  an 
incalculable  sum,  enough  to  purchase  the  whole  town, 
and  build  every  street  anew,  but  which,  vast  as  it  was, 
no  sane  man  would  have  given  a  solid  sixpence  for. 
What  then,  in  sober  earnest,  were  the  delusive  treas 
ures  of  the  chest?  Why,  here  were  old  provincial 
bills  of  credit,  and  treasury  notes,  and  bills  of  land 
banks,  and  all  other  bubbles  of  the  sort,  from  the  first 
issue,  above  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  down  nearly 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.  199 

to  the  Revolution.  Bills  of  a  thousand  pounds  were 
intermixed  with  parchment  pennies,  and  worth  no 
more  than  they. 

'  And  this,  then,  is  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's  treasure  ! ' 
said  John  Brown.  '  Your  namesake,  Peter,  was  some 
thing  like  yourself;  and,  when  the  provincial  currency 
had  depreciated  fifty  or  seventy-five  per  cent.,  he  bought 
it  up,  in  expectation  of  a  rise.  I  have  heard  my  grand 
father  say,  that  old  Peter  gave  his  father  a  mortgage 
of  this  very  house  and  land,  to  raise  cash  for  his  silly 
project.  But  the  currency  kept  sinking,  till  nobody 
would  take  it  as  a  gift ;  and  there  was  old  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite,  like  Peter  the  second,  with  thousands  in  his 
strong  box,  and  hardly  a  coat  to  his  back.  He  went 
mad  upon  the  strength  of  it.  But,  never  mind,  Peter  ! 
It  is  just  the  sort  of  capital  for  building  castles  in  the 
air.' 

4  The  house  will  be  down  about  our  ears  ! '  cried 
Tabitha,  as  the  wind  shook  it  with  increasing  violence. 

4  Let  it  fall ! '  said  Peter,  folding  his  arms,  as  he 
seated  himself  upon  the  chest. 

4  No,  no,  my  old  friend  Peter,'  said  John  Brown. 
'  I  have  house-room  for  you  and  Tabby,  and  a  safe 
vault  for  the  chest  of  treasure.  To-morrow  we  will 
try  to  come  to  an  agreement  about  the  sale  of  this  old 
house.  Real  estate  is  well  up,  and  I  could  afford  you 
a  pretty  handsome  price.' 

1  And  I,'  observed  Peter  Goldthwaite,  with  reviving 
spirits,  '  have  a  plan  for  laying  out  the  cash  to  great 
advantage.' 

'Why,  as  to  that,'  muttered  John  Brown  to  him- 


200  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

self,  '  we  must  apply  to  the  next  court  for  a  guardian 
to  take  care  of  the  solid  cash  ;  and  if  Peter  insists  upon 
speculating,  he  may  do  it,  to  his  heart's  content,  with 
old  PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.' 


CHIPPINGS  WITH  A  CHISEL. 

I 

PASSING  a  summer,  several  years  since,  at  Edgar- 
town,  on  the  island  of  Martha's  Vineyard,  I  became 
acquainted  with  a  certain  carver  of  tomb-stones,  who 
had  travelled  and  voyaged  thither  from  the  interior  of 
Massachusetts,  in  search  of  professional  employment. 
The  speculation  had  turned  out  so  successful,  that  my 
friend  expected  to  transmute  slate  and  marble  into  sil 
ver  and  gold,  to  the  amount  of  at  least  a  thousand 
dollars,  during  the  few  months  of  his  sojourn  at  Nan- 
tucket  and  the  Vineyard.  The  secluded  life,  and  the 
simple  and  primitive  spirit  which  still  characterizes  the 
inhabitants  of  those  islands,  especially  of  Martha's  Vine 
yard,  insure  their  dead  friends  a  longer  and  dearer  re 
membrance  than  the  daily  novelty,  and  revolving  bustle 
of  the  world,  can  elsewhere  afford  to  beings  of  the  past. 
Yet  while  every  family  is  anxious  to  erect  a  memorial 
to  its  departed  members,  the  untainted  breath  of  ocean 
bestows  such  health  and  length  of  days  upon  the  people 
of  the  isles,  as  would  cause  a  melancholy  dearth  of 
business  to  a  resident  artist  in  that  line.  His  own 
monument,  recording  his  decease  by  starvation,  would 
probably  be  an  early  specimen  of  his  skill.  Grave 
stones,  therefore,  have  generally  been  an  article  of 
imported  merchandise. 


202  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

In  my  walks  through  the  burial-ground  of  Edgar- 
town  —  where  the  dead  have  lain  so  long  that  the  soil, 
once  enriched  by  their  decay,  has  returned  to  iij 
original  barrenness  —  in  that  ancient  burial-ground  I 
noticed  much  variety  of  monumental  sculpture.  Tb^ 
elder  stones,  dated  a  century  back,  or  more,  have  bor 
ders  elaborately  carved  with  flowers,  and  are  adorned 
with  a  multiplicity  of  death's-heads,  cross-bones,  scythes, 
hour-glasses,  and  other  lugubrious  emblems  of  mortal 
ity,  with  here  and  there  a  winged  cherub  to  direct  the 
mourner's  spirit  upward.  These  productions  of  Gothic 
taste  must  have  been  quite  beyond  the  colonial  skill  of 
the  day,  and  were  probably  carved  in  London,  and 
brought  across  the  ocean  to  commemorate  the  defunct 
worthies  of  this  lonely  isle.  The  more  recent  monu 
ments  are  mere  slabs  of  slate,  in  the  ordinary  style, 
without  any  superfluous  flourishes  to  set  off*  the  bald 
inscriptions.  But  others  —  and  those  far  the  most  im 
pressive,  both  to  my  taste  and  feelings  —  were  roughly 
hewn  from  the  gray  rocks  of  the  island,  evidently  by 
the  unskilled  hands  of  surviving  friends  and  relatives. 
On  some  there  were  merely  the  initials  of  a  name  ; 
some  were  inscribed  with  misspelt  prose  or  rhyme,  in 
deep  letters,  which  the  moss  and  wintry  rain  of  many 
years  had  not  been  able  to  obliterate.  These,  these 
were  graves  where  loved  ones  slept !  It  is  an  old 
theme  of  satire,  the  falsehood  and  vanity  of  monu 
mental  eulogies  ;  but  when  affection  and  sorrow  grave 
the  letters  with  their  own  painful  labor,  then  we  may 
be  sure  that  they  copy  from  the  record  on  their 
hearts. 

My  acquaintance,  the  sculptor  —  he  may  share  that 


CHIPPINGS    WITH   A   CHISEL.  203 

title  with  Greenough,  since  the  dauber  of  signs  is  a 
painter  as  well  as  Raphael  —  had  found  a  ready  market 
for  all  his  blank  slabs  of  marble,  and  full  occupa 
tion  in  lettering  and  ornamenting  them.  He  was  an 
elderly  man,  a  descendant  of  the  old  Puritan  family  of 
Wigglesworth,  with  a  certain  simplicity  and  single 
ness,  both  of  heart  and  mind,  which,  methinks,  is 
more  rarely  found  among  us  Yankees  than  in  any 
other  community  of  people.  In  spite  of  his  gray  head 
and  wrinkled  brow,  he  was  quite  like  a  child  in  all  mat 
ters  save  what  had  some  reference  to  his  own  business  ; 
he  seemed,  unless  my  fancy  misled  me,  to  view  man 
kind  in  no  other  relation  than  as  people  in  want  of 
tomb-stones  ;  and  his  literary  attainments  evidently 
comprehended  very  little,  either  of  prose  or  poetry, 
which  had  not,  at  one  time  or  other,  been  inscribed 
on  slate  or  marble.  His  sole  task  and  office  among 
the  immortal  pilgrims  of  the  tomb  —  the  duty  for 
which  Providence  had  sent  the  old  man  into  the  world, 
as  it  were  with  a  chisel  in  his  hand  —  was  to  label  the 
dead  bodies,  lest  their  names  should  be  forgotten  at 
the  resurrection.  Yet  he  had  not  failed,  within  a 
narrow  scope,  to  gather  a  few  sprigs  of  earthly,  and 
more  than  earthly,  wisdom,  —  the  harvest  of  many  a 
grave. 

And  lugubrious  as  his  calling  might  appear,  he  was 
as  cheerful  an  old  soul  as  health,  and  integrity,  and 
lack  of  care,  could  make  him,  and  used  to  set  to  work 
upon  one  sorrowful  inscription  or  another  with  that 
sort  of  spirit  which  impels  a  man  to  sing  at  his  labor. 
On  the  whole,  I  found  Mr.  Wigglesworth  an  entertain 
ing,  and  often  instructive,  if  not  an  interesting  char- 


204  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

acter  ;  and  partly  for  the  charm  of  his  society,  and 
still  more  because  his  work  has  an  invariable  attraction 
for  '  man  that  is  born  of  woman,'  I  was  accustomed  to 
spend  some  hours  a  day  at  his  workshop.  The  quaint- 
ness  of  his  remarks,  and  their  not  infrequent  truth  — 
a  truth  condensed  and  pointed  by  the  limited  sphere  of 
his  view  —  gave  a  raciness  to  his  talk,  which  mere 
worldliness  and  general  cultivation  would  at  once  have 
destroyed. 

Sometimes  we  would  discuss  the  respective  merits 
of  the  various  qualities  of  marble,  numerous  slabs  of 
which  were  resting  against  the  walls  of  the  shop  ;  or 
sometimes  an  hour  or  two  would  pass  quietly,  without 
a  word  on  either,  side,  while  I  watched  how  neatly  his 
chisel  struck  out  letter  after  letter  of  the  names  of  the 
Nortons,  the  Mayhews,  the  Luces,  the  Daggets,  and 
other  immemorial  families  of  the  Vineyard.  Often, 
with  an  artist's  pride,  the  good  old  sculptor  would 
speak  of  favorite  productions  of  his  skill,  which  were 
scattered  throughout  the  village  grave-yards  of  New 
England.  But  my  chief  and  most  instructive  amuse 
ment  was  to  witness  his  interviews  with  his  customers, 
who  held  interminable  consultations  about  the  form  and 
fashion  of  the  desired  monuments,  the  buried  excel 
lence  to  be  commemorated,  the  anguish  to  be  expressed, 
and  finally,  the  lowest  price  in  dollars  and  cents  for 
which  a  marble  transcript  of  their  feelings  might  be 
obtained.  Really,  my  mind  received  many  fresh  ideas, 
which,  perhaps,  may  remain  in  it  even  longer  than  Mr. 
Wigglesworth's  hardest  marble  will  retain  the  deepest 
strokes  of  his  chisel. 

An  elderly  lady  came  to  bespeak  a  monument  for 


CHIPPINGS    WITH    A   CHISEL.  205 

her  first  love,  who  had  been  killed  by  a  whale  in  the 
Pacific  Ocean  no  less  than  forty  years  before.  It  was 
singular  that  so  strong  an  impression  of  early  feeling 
should  have  survived  through  the  changes  of  her  sub 
sequent  life,  in  the  course  of  which  she  had  been  a 
\rife  and  a  mother,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  a 
comfortable  and  happy  woman.  Reflecting  within  my 
self,  it  appeared  to  me  that  this  life-long  sorrow  —  as, 
in  all  good  faith,  she  deemed  it  —  was  one  of  the  most 
fortunate  circumstances  of  her  history.  It  had  given 
an  ideality  to  her  mind  ;  it  had  kept  her  purer  and  less 
earthly  than  she  would  otherwise  have  been,  by  draw 
ing  a  portion  of  her  sympathies  apart  from  earth. 
Amid  the  throng  of  enjoyments,  and  the  pressure  of 
worldly  care,  and  all  the  warm  materialism  of  this  life, 
she  had  communed  with  a  vision,  and  had  been  the 
better  for  such  intercourse.  Faithful  to  the  husband 
of  her  maturity,  and  loving  him  with  a  far  more  real 
affection  than  she  ever  could  have  felt  for  this  dream 
of  her  girlhood,  there  had  still  been  an  imaginative 
faith  to  the  ocean-buried,  so  that  an  ordinary  character 
had  thus  been  elevated  and  refined.  Her  sighs  had 
been  the  breath  of  Heaven  to  her  soul.  The  good 
lady  earnestly  desired  that  the  proposed  monument 
should  be  ornamented  with  a  carved  border  of  marine 
plants,  intertwined  with  twisted  seashells,  such  as  were 
probably  waving  over  her  lover's  skeleton,  or  strewn 
around  it,  in  the  far  depths  of  the  Pacific.  But 
Mr.  Wigglesworth's  chisel  being  inadequate  to  the 
task,  she  was  forced  to  content  herself  with  a  rose, 
hanging  its  head  from  a  broken  stem.  After  her  de- 


206  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

parture,  I  remarked  that  the  symbol  was  none  of  the 
most  apt. 

'And  yet,'  said  my  friend  the  sculptor,  embodying 
in  this  image  the  thoughts  that  had  been  passing 
through  my  own  mind,  l  that  broken  rose  has  shed  its 
sweet  smell  through  forty  years  of  the  good  woman's 
life.' 

It  was  seldom  that  I  could  find  such  pleasant  food  for 
contemplation  as  in  the  above  instance.  None  of  the 
applicants,  I  think,  affected  me  more  disagreeably  than 
an  old  man  who  came,  with  his  fourth  wife  hanging  on 
his  arm,  to  bespeak  grave -stones  for  the  three  former 
occupants  of  his  marriage-bed.  I  watched  with  some 
anxiety  to  see  whether  his  remembrance  of  either  were 
more  affectionate  than  of  the  other  two,  but  could  dis 
cover  no  symptom  of  the  kind.  The  three  monuments 
were  all  to  be  of  the  same  material  and  form,  and  each 
decorated,  in  bas-relief,  with  two  weeping  willows, 
one  of  these  sympathetic  trees  bending  over  its  fellow, 
which  was  to  be  broken  in  the  midst  and  rest  upon  a 
sepulchral  urn.  This,  indeed,  was  Mr.  Wigglesworth's 
standing  emblem  of  conjugal  bereavement.  I  shud 
dered  at  the  gray  polygamist,  who  had  so  utterly  lost 
the  holy  sense  of  individuality,  in  wedlock,  that 
methought  he  was  fain  to  reckon  upon  his  fingers  how 
many  women,  who  had  once  slept  by  his  side,  were 
now  sleeping  in  their  graves.  There  was  even  —  if  I 
wrong  him  it  is  no  great  matter  —  a  glance  sidelong  at 
his  living  spouse,  as  if  he  were  inclined  to  drive  a 
thriftier  bargain  by  bespeaking  four  grave-stones  in  a 
lot.  I  was  better  pleased  with  a  rough  old  whaling 
captain,  who  gave  directions  for  a  broad  marble  slab, 


CHIPPINGS    WITH    A    CHISEL.  207 

divided  into  two  compartments,  one  of  which  was  to 
contain  an  epitaph  on  his  deceased  wife,  and  the  other 
to  be  left  vacant,  till  death  should  engrave  his  own 
name  there.  As  is  frequently  the  case  among  the 
whalers  of  Martha's  Vineyard,  so  much  of  this  storm- 
beaten  widower's  life  had  been  tossed  away  on  distant 
seas,  that  out  of  twenty  years  of  matrimony  he  had 
spent  scarce  three,  and  those  at  scattered  intervals,  be 
neath  his  own  rcof.  Thus  the  wife  of  his  youth,  though 
she  died  in  his  and  her  declining  age,  retained  the 
bridal  dcwdrops  fresh  around  her  memory. 

My  observations  gave  me  the  idea,  and  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth  confirmed  it,  that  husbands  were  more  faithful 
in  setting  up  memorials  to  their  dead  wives  than 
widows  to  their  dead  husbands.  I  was  not  ill-natured 
enough  to  fancy  that  women,  less  than  men,  feel  so 
sure  of  their  own  constancy  as  to  be  willing  to  give  a 
pledge  of  it  in  marble.  It  is  more  probably  the  fact, 
that  while  men  are  able  to  reflect  upon  their  lost  com 
panions  as  remembrances  apart  from  themselves ; 
women,  on  the  other  hand,  are  conscious  that  a  portion 
of  their  being  has  gone  with  the  departed  whitherso 
ever  he  has  gone.  Soul  clings  to  soul ;  the  living  dust 
has  a  sympathy  with  the  dust  of  the  grave  ;  and,  by 
the  very  strength  of  that  sympathy,  the  wife  of  the 
dead  shrinks  the  more  sensitively  from  reminding  the 
world  of  its  existence.  The  link  is  already  strong 
enough  ;  it  needs  no  visible  symbol.  And,  though  a 
shadow  walks  ever  by  her  side,  and  the  touch  of  a 
chill  hand  is  on  her  bosom,  yet  life,  and  perchance  its 
natural  yearnings,  may  still  be  warm  within  her,  and 
inspire  her  with  new  hopes  of  happiness.  Then  would 


208  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

she  mark  out  the  grave,  the  scent  of  which  would  be 
perceptible  on  the  pillow  of  the  second  bridal  ?  No  — 
but  rather  level  its  green  mound  with  the  surrounding 
earth,  as  if,  when  she  dug  up  again  her  buried  heart, 
the  spot  had  ceased  to  be  a  grave.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
these  sentimentalities,  I  was  prodigiously  amused  by 
an  incident,  of  which  I  had  not  the  good  fortune  to  be 
a  witness,  but  which  Mr.  Wigglesworth  related  with 
considerable  humor.  A  gentlewoman  of  the  town, 
receiving  news  of  her  husband's  loss  at  sea,  had  be 
spoken  a  handsome  slab  of  marble,  and  came  daily  to 
watch  the  progress  of  my  friend's  chisel.  One  after 
noon,  when  the  good  lady  and  the  sculptor  were  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  epitaph,  which  the  departed  spirit 
might  have  been  greatly  comforted  to  read,  who 
should  walk  into  the  workshop  but  the  deceased  him 
self,  in  substance  as  well  as  spirit !  He  had  been 
picked  up  at  sea,  and  stood  in  no  present  need  of 
tomb-stone  or  epitaph. 

'  And  how,'  inquired  I,  '  did  his  wife  bear  the  shock 
of  joyful  surprise  ? ' 

'  Why,'  said  the  old  man,  deepening  the  grin  of  a 
death's-head,  on  which  his  chisel  was  just  then  em 
ployed,  '  I  really  felt  for  the  poor  woman ;  it  was  one 
of  my  best  pieces  of  marble  —  and  to  be  thrown  away 
on  a  living  man  ! ' 

A  comely  woman,  with  a  pretty  rosebud  of  a 
daughter,  came  to  select  a  grave-stone  for  a  twin- 
daughter,  who  had  died  a  month  before.  I  was  im 
pressed  with  the  different  nature  of  their  feelings  for 
the  dead ;  the  mother  was  calm  and  wofully  resigned, 
fully  conscious  of  her  loss,  as  of  a  treasure  which  she 


CHIPPINGS    WITH    A    CHISEL.  209 

had  not  always  possessed,  and,  therefore,  had  been 
aware  that  it  might  be  taken  from  her  ;  but  the  daugh 
ter  evidently  had  no  real  knowledge  of  what  death's 
doings  were.  Her  thoughts  knew,  but  not  her  heart. 
It  seemed  to  me,  that  by  the  print  and  pressure  which 
the  dead  sister  had  left  upon  the  survivor's  spirit,  her 
feelings  were  almost  the  same  as  if  she  still  stood  side 
by  side,  and  arm  in  arm,  with  the  departed,  looking  at 
the  slabs  of  marble  ;  and  once  or  twice  she  glanced 
around  with  a  sunny  smile,  which,  as  its  sister  smile  had 
faded  for  ever,  soon  grew  confusedly  overshadowed. 
Perchance  her  consciousness  was  truer  than  her  reflec 
tion —  perchance  her  dead  sister  was  a  closer  com 
panion  than  in  life.  The  mother  and  daughter  talked 
a  long  while  with  Mr.  Wiggles  worth  about  a  suitable 
epitaph,  and  finally  chose  an  ordinary  verse  of  ill- 
matched  rhymes,  which  had  already  been  inscribed 
upon  innumerable  tomb-stones.  But,  when  we  ridi 
cule  the  triteness  of  monumental  verses,  we  forget 
that  Sorrow  reads  far  deeper  in  them  than  we  can,  and 
finds  a  profound  and  individual  purport  in  what  seems 
so  vague  and  inexpressive,  unless  interpreted  by  her. 
She  makes  the  epitaph  anew,  though  the  selfsame 
words  may  have  served  for  a  thousand  graves. 

'  And  yet,'  said  I  afterwards  to  Mr.  Wigglesworth, 
4  they  might  have  made  a  better  choice  than  this. 
While  you  were  discussing  the  subject,  I  was  struck 
by  at  least  a  dozen  simple  and  natural  expressions 
from  the  lips  of  both  mother  and  daughter.  One  of 
these  would  have  formed  an  inscription  equally  original 
and  appropriate.' 

'  No,  no,'  replied  the  sculptor,  shaking   his  head, 


210  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

4  there  is  a  good  deal  of  comfort  to  be  gathered  from 
these  little  old  scraps  of  poetry ;  and  so  I  always 
recommend  them  in  preference  to  any  new-fangled 
ones.  And  somehow,  they  seem  to  stretch  to  suit  a 
great  grief,  and  shrink  to  fit  a  small  one.' 

It  was  not  seldom  that  ludicrous  images  were  excited 
by  what  took  place  between  Mr.  Wigglesworth  and 
his  customers.  A  shrewd  gentlewoman,  who  kept  a 
tavern  in  the  town,  was  anxious  to  obtain  two  or  three 
grave-stones  for  the  deceased  members  of  her  family, 
and  to  pay  for  these  solemn  commodities  by  taking 
the  sculptor  to  board.  Hereupon  a  fantasy  arose  in 
my  mind,  of  good  Mr.  Wigglesworth  sitting  down  to 
dinner  at  a  broad,  flat  tomb-stone,  carving  one  of  his 
own  plump  little  marble  cherubs,  gnawing  a  pair  of 
cross-bones,  and  drinking  out  of  a  hollow  death's-head, 
or  perhaps  a  lachrymatory  vase,  or  sepulchral  urn ; 
while  his  hostess's  dead  children  waited  on  him  at  the 
ghastly  banquet.  On  communicating  this  nonsensical 
picture  to  the  old  man,  he  laughed  heartily,  and  pro 
nounced  my  humor  to  be  of  the  right  sort. 

4 1  have  lived  at  such  a  table  all  my  days,'  said  he, 
4  and  eaten  no  small  quantity  of  slate  and  marble.' 

4  Hard  fare  ! '  rejoined  I,  smiling ;  4  but  you  seemed 
to  have  found  it  excellent  of  digestion,  too.' 

A  man  of  fifty,  or  thereabouts,  with  a  harsh, 
unpleasant  countenance,  ordered  a  stone  for  the  grave 
of  his  bitter  enemy,  with  whom  he  had  waged  warfare 
half  a  lifetime,  to  their  mutual  misery  and  ruin.  The 
secret  of  this  phenomenon  was,  that  hatred  had  become 
the  sustenance  and  enjoyment  of  the  poor  wretch's 
soul-;  it  had  supplied  the  place  of  all  kindly  affections ; 


CHIPPINGS    WITH    A    CHISEL.  211 

it  had  been  really  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  himself 
and  the  man  who  shared  the  passion ;  and  when  its 
object  died,  the  unappeasable  foe  was  the  only  mourner 
for  the  dead.  He  expressed  a  purpose  of  being  buried 
side  by  side  with  his  enemy. 

1 1  doubt  whether  their  dust  will  mingle,'  remarked 
the  old  sculptor  to  me  ;  for  often  there  was  an  earthli- 
ness  in  his  conceptions. 

4  Oh  yes,'  replied  I,  who  had  mused  long  upon  the 
incident ;  '  and  when  they  rise  again,  these  bitter  foes 
may  find  themselves  dear  friends.  Methinks  what  they 
mistook  for  hatred  was  but  love  under  a  mask.' 

A  gentleman  of  antiquarian  propensities  provided  a 
memorial  for  an  Indian  of  Chabbiquidick,  one  of  the 
few  of  untainted  blood  remaining  in  that  region,  and 
said  to  be  an  hereditary  chieftain,  descended  from  the 
sachem  who  welcomed  Governor  Mayhew  to  the  Vine 
yard.  Mr.  Wigglesworth  exerted  his  best  skill  to 
carve  a  broken  bow  and  scattered  sheaf  of  arrows, 
in  memory  of  the  hunters  and  warriors  whose  race 
was  ended  here ;  but  he  likewise  sculptured  a  cherub, 
to  denote  that  the  poor  Indian  had  shared  the  Chris 
tian's  hope  of  immortality. 

1  Why,'  observed  I,  taking  a  perverse  view  of  the 
winged  boy  and  the  bow  and  arrows,  '  it  looks  more 
like  Cupid's  tomb  than  an  Indian  chief's !' 

'  You  talk  nonsense,'  said  the  sculptor,  with  the 
offended  pride  of  art;  he  then  added  with  his  usual 
good-nature,  '  How  can  Cupid  die  when  there  are  such 
pretty  maidens  in  the  Vineyard  ? ' 

'  Very  true,'  answered  I,  —  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
day  I  thought  of  other  matters  than  tomb-stones. 


212  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

At  our  next  meeting  I  found  him  chiseling  an  open 
book  upon  a  marble  head-stone,  and  concluded  that  it 
was  meant  to  express  the  erudition  of  some  black- 
letter  clergyman  of  the  Cotton  Mather  school.  It 
turned  out,  however,  to  be  emblematical  of  the  scrip 
tural  knowledge  of  an  old  woman  who  had  never  read 
any  thing  but  her  Bible ;  and  the  monument  was  a 
tribute  to  her  piety  and  good  works,  from  the  Orthodox 
Church,  of  which  she  had  been  a  member.  In  strange 
contrast  with  this  Christian  woman's  memorial,  was 
that  of  an  infidel,  whose  grave-stone,  by  his  own 
direction,  bore  an  avowal  of  his  belief  that  the  spirit 
within  him  would  be  extinguished  like  a  flame,  and 
that  the  nothingness  whence  he  sprang  would  receive 
him  again.  Mr.  Wigglesworth  consulted  me  as  to  the 
propriety  of  enabling  a  dead  man's  dust  to  utter  this 
dreadful  creed. 

'  If  I  thought,'  said  he,  '  that  a  single  mortal  would 
read  the  inscription  without  a  shudder,  my  chisel 
should  never  cut  a  letter  of  it.  But  when  the  grave 
speaks  such  falsehoods,  the  soul  of  man  will  know  the 
truth  by  its  own  horror.' 

4  So  it  will,'  said  I,  struck  by  the  idea  :  c  the  poor 
infidel  may  strive  to  preach  blasphemies  from  his 
grave  ;  but  it  will  be  only  another  method  of  impress 
ing  the  soul  with  a  consciousness  of  immortality.' 

There  was  an  old  man  by  the  name  of  Norton, 
noted  throughout  the  island  for  his  great  wealth,  which 
he  had  accumulated  by  the  exercise  of  strong  and 
shrewd  faculties,  combined  with  a  most  penurious 
disposition.  This  wretched  miser,  conscious  that  he 
had  not  a  friend  to  be  mindful  of  him  in  his  grave,  had 


CITIPPINGS    WITH    A    CHISEL.  213 

himself  taken  the  needful  precautions  for  posthumous 
remembrance,  by  bespeaking  an  immense  slab  of 
white  marble,  with  a  long  epitaph  in  raised  letters,  the 
whole  to  be  as  magnificent  as  Mr.  Wigglesworth's  skill 
could  make  it.  There  was  something  very  character 
istic  in  this  contrivance  to  have  his  money's  worth 
even  from  his  own  tomb-stone,  which,  indeed,  afforded 
him  more  enjoyment  in  the  few  months  that  he  lived 
thereafter,  than  it  probably  will  in  a  whole  century, 
now  that  it  is  laid  over  his  bones.  This  incident 
reminds  me  of  a  young  girl,  a  pale,  slender,  feeble 
creature,  most  unlike  the  other  rosy  and  healthful 
damsels  of  the  Vineyard,  amid  whose  brightness  she 
was  fading  away.  Day  after  day  did  the  poor  maiden 
come  to  the  sculptor's  shop,  and  pass  from  one  piece 
of  marble  to  another,  till  at  last  she  penciled  her  name 
upon  a  slender  slab,  which,  I  think,  was  of  a  more 
spotless  white  than  all  the  rest.  I  saw  her  no  more, 
but  soon  afterwards  found  Mr.  Wigglesworth  cutting 
her  virgin  name  into  the  stone  which  she  had  chosen. 

c  She  is  dead  —  poor  girl,'  said  he,  interrupting  the 
tune  which  he  was  whistling,  4  and  she  chose  a  good 
piece  of  stuff  for  her  head-stone.  Now  which  of 
these  slabs  would  you  like  best  to  see  your  own  name 
upon  ? ' 

'  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  good  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth,'  replied  I,  after  a  moment's  pause,  —  for  the 
abruptness  of  the  question  had  somewhat  startled  me, 
—  'to  be  quite  sincere  with  you,  I  care  little  or  nothing 
about  a  stone  for  my  own  grave,  and  am  somewhat 
inclined  to  skepticism  as  to  the  propriety  of  erecting 
monuments  at  all,  over  the  dust  that  once  was  human. 

VOL.   II.  14 


214 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


The  weight  of  these  heavy  marbles,  though  unfelt 
by  the  dead  corpse  or  the  enfranchised  soul,  presses 
drearily  upon  the  spirit  of  the  survivor,  and  causes 
him  to  connect  the  idea  of  death  with  the  dungeon- 
like  imprisonment  of  the  tomb,  instead  of  with  the 
freedom  of  the  skies.  Every  grave-stone  that  you 
ever  made  is  the  visible  symbol  of  a  mistaken  system. 
Our  thoughts  should  soar  upward  with  the  butterfly  — 
not  linger  with  the  exuvire  that  confined  him.  In 
truth  and  reason,  neither  those  whom  we  call  the 
living,  and  still  less  the  departed,  have  any  thing  to  do 
with  the  grave.' 

*  I  never  heard  any  thing  so  heathenish ! '  said  Mr. 
Wigglesworth,  perplexed  and  displeased  at  sentiments 
which  controverted  all  his  notions  and  feelings,  and 
implied  the  utter  waste,  and  worse,  of  his  whole  life's 
labor,  — '  would  you  forget  your  dead  friends,  the 
moment  they  are  under  the  sod  ! ' 

4  They  are  not  under  the  sod,'  I  rejoined  ;  '  then 
why  should  I  mark  the  spot  where  there  is  no  treasure 
hidden  !  Forget  them  ?  No  !  But  to  remember  them 
aright,  I  would  forget  what  they  have  cast  off.  And 
to  gain  the  truer  conception  of  DEATH,  I  would  forget 
the  GRAVE  ! ' 

But  still  the  good  old  sculptor  murmured,  and  stum 
bled,  as  it  were,  over  the  grave-stones  amid  which  he 
had  walked  through  life.  Whether  he  were  right  or 
wrong,  I  had  grown  the  wiser  from  our  companionship 
and  from  my  observations  of  nature  and  character,  as 
displayed  by  those  who  came,  with  their  old  griefs  or 
their  new  ones,  to  get  them  recorded  upon  his  slabs  of 
marble.  And  yet,  with  my  gain  of  wisdom,  I  had 


CHIPPINGS    WITH    A    CHISEL.  215 

likewise  gained  perplexity  ;  for  there  was  a  strange 
doubt  in  my  mind,  whether  the  dark  shadowing  of  this 
life,  the  sorrows  and  regrets,  have  not  as  much  real 
comfort  in  them  —  leaving  religious  influences  out  of 
the  question  —  as  what  we  term  life's  joys. 


THE   SHAKER  BRIDAL. 

ONE  day,  in  the  sick  chamber  of  Father  Ephraim, 
who  had  been  forty  years  the  presiding  elder  over  the 
Shaker  settlement  at  Goshen,  there  was  an  assemblage 
of  several  of  the  chief  men  of  the  sect.  Individuals 
had  come  from  the  rich  establishment  at  Lebanon, 
from  Canterbury,  Harvard,  and  Alfred,  and  from  all 
the  other  localities,  where  this  strange  people  have 
fertilized  the  rugged  hills  of  New  England  by  their 
systematic  industry.  An  elder  was  likewise  there, 
who  had  made  a  pilgrimage  of  a  thousand  miles  from 
a  village  of  the  faithful  in  Kentucky,  to  visit  his 
spiritual  kindred,  the  children  of  the  sainted  Mother 
Ann.  He  had  partaken  of  the  homely  abundance  of 
their  tables,  had  quaffed  the  far-famed  Shaker  cider, 
and  had  joined  in  the  sacred  dance,  every  step  of 
which  is  believed  to  alienate  the  enthusiast  from  earth, 
and  bear  him  onward  to  heavenly  purity  and  bliss. 
His  brethren  of  the  north  had  now  courteously  invited 
him  to  be  present  on  an  occasion,  when  the  concur 
rence  of  every  eminent  member  of  their  community 
was  peculiarly  desirable. 

The  venerable  Father  Ephraim  sat  in  his  easy  chair, 
not  only  hoary-headed  and  infirm  with  age,  but  worn 
down  by  a  lingering  disease,  which,  it  was  evident, 
would  very  soon  transfer  his  patriarchal  staff  to  other 


THE    SHAKER    BRIDAL.  217 

hands.     At  his  footstool  stood  a  man  and  woman,  both 
clad  in  the  Shaker  garb. 

'My  brethren,'  said  Father  Ephraim  to  the  sur 
rounding  elders,  feebly  exerting  himself  to  utter  these 
few  words,  '  here  are  the  son  and  daughter  to  whom 
I  would  commit  the  trust,  of  which  Providence  is  about 
to  lighten  my  weary  shoulders.  Read  their  faces,  I 
pray  you,  and  say  whether  the  inward  movement  of 
the  spirit  hath  guided  my  choice  aright.' 

Accordingly,  each  elder  looked  at  the  two  candi 
dates  with  a  most  scrutinizing  gaze.  The  man,  whose 
name  was  Adam  Colburn,  had  a  face  sunburnt  with 
labor  in  the  fields,  yet  intelligent,  thoughtful,  and 
traced  with  cares  -enough  for  a  whole  lifetime,  though 
he  had  barely  reached  middle  age.  There  was  some 
thing  severe  in  his  aspect,  and  a  rigidity  throughout 
his  person,  characteristics  that  caused  him  generally 
to  be  taken  for  a  schoolmaster ;  which  vocation,  in 
fact,  he  had  formerly  exercised  for  several  years. 
The  woman,  Martha  Pierson,  was  somewhat  above 
thirty,  thin  and  pale,  as  a  Shaker  sister  almost  inva 
riably  is,  and  not  entirely  free  from  that  corpse-like 
appearance,  which  the  garb  of  the  sisterhood  is  so 
well  calculated  to  impart. 

4  This  pair  are  still  in  the  summer  of  their  years,' 
observed  the  elder  from  Harvard,  a  shrewd  old  man. 
'  I  would  like  better  to  see  the  hoar  frost  of  autumn 
on  their  heads.  Methinks,  also,  they  will  be  exposed 
to  peculiar  temptations,  on  account  of  the  carnal  de 
sires  which  have  heretofore  subsisted  between  them.' 

4  Nay,  brother,'  said  the  elder  from  Canterbury, 
1  the  hoar  frost,  and  the  black  frost,  hath  done  its  work 


218  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

on  Brother  Adam  and  Sister  Martha,  even  as  we 
sometimes  discern  its  traces  in  our  cornfields,  while 
they  are  yet  green.  And  why  should  we  question  the 
wisdom  of  our  venerable  Father's  purpose,  although 
this  pair,  in  their  early  youth,  have  loved  one  another 
as  the  world's  people  love  ?  Are  there  not  many 
brethren  and  sisters  among  us,  who  have  lived  long 
together  in  wedlock,  yet,  adopting  our  faith,  find  their 
hearts  purified  from  all  but  spiritual  affection  ?  ' 

Whether  or  no  the  early  loves  of  Adam  and  Martha 
had  rendered  it  inexpedient  that  they  should  now  pre 
side  together  over  a  Shaker  village,  it  was  certainly 
most  singular  that  such  should  be  the  final  result  of 
many  warm  and  tender  hopes.  Children  of  neighbor 
ing  families,  their  affection  was  older  even  than  their 
school-days  ;  it  seemed  an  innate  principle,  interfused 
among  all  'their  sentiments  and  feelings,  and  not  so 
much  a  distinct  remembrance,  as  connected  with  their 
whole  volume  of  remembrances.  But,  just  as  they 
reached  a  proper  age  for  their  union,  misfortunes  had 
fallen  heavily  on  both,  and  made  it  necessary  that  they 
should  resort  to  personal  labor  for  a  bare  subsistence. 
Even  under  these  circumstances,  Martha  Pierson 
would  probably  have  consented  to  unite  her  fate  with 
Adam  Colburn's,  and,  secure  of  the  bliss  of  mutual 
love,  would  patiently  have  awaited  the  less  important 
gifts  of  fortune.  But  Adam,  being  of  a  calm  and 
cautious  character,  was  loath  to  relinquish  the  advan 
tages  which  a  single  man  possesses  for  raising  himself 
in  the  world.  Year  after  year,  therefore,  their  mar 
riage  had  been  deferred.  Adam  Colburn  had  followed 
many  vocations,  had  travelled  far,  and  seen  much  of 


THE    SHAKER    BRIDAL.  219 

the  world  and  of  life.  Martha  had  earned  her  bread 
sometimes  as  a  sempstress,  sometimes  as  help  to  a 
farmer's  wife,  sometimes  as  schoolmistress  of  the  vil 
lage  children,  sometimes  as  a  nurse  or  watcher  of  the 
sick,  thus  acquiring  a  varied  experience,  the  ultimate 
use  of  which  she  little  anticipated.  But  nothing  had 
gone  prosperously  with  either  of  the  lovers  ;  at  no 
subsequent  moment  would  matrimony  have  been  so 
prudent  a  measure,  as  when  they  had  first  parted,  in 
the  opening  bloom  of  life,  to  seek  a  better  fortune. 
Still  they  had  held  fast  their  mutual  faith.  Martha 
might  have  been  the  wife  of  a  man,  who  sat  among 
the  senators  of  his  native  state,  and  Adam  could  have 
won  the  hand,  as  he  had  unintentionally  won  the  heart, 
of  a  rich  and  comely  widow.  But  neither  of  them 
desired  good  fortune,  save  to  share  it  with  the  other. 

At  length  that  calm  despair  which  occurs  only  in  a 
strong  and  somewhat  stubborn  character,  and  yields  to 
no  second  spring  of  hope,  settled  down  on  the  spirit  of 
Adam  Col  burn.  He  sought  an  interview  with  Martha, 
and  proposed  that  they  should  join  the  Society  of 
Shakers.  The  converts  of  this  sect  are  oftener  driven 
within  its  hospitable  gates  by  worldly  misfortune,  than 
drawn  thither  by  fanaticism,  and  are  received  without 
inquisition  as  to  their  motives.  Martha,  faithful  still, 
had  placed  her  hand  in  that  of  her  lover,  and  accom 
panied  him  to  the  Shaker  village.  Here  the  natural 
capacity  of  each,  cultivated  and  strengthened  by  the 
difficulties  of  their  previous  lives,  had  soon  gained 
them  an  important  rank  in  the  Society,  whose  mem 
bers  are  generally  below  the  ordinary  standard  of 
intelligence.  Their  faith  and  feelings  had,  in  some 


220  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

degree,  become  assimilated  to  those  of  their  fellow- 
worshippers.  Adam  Colburn  gradually  acquired  repu 
tation,  not  only  in  the  management  of  the  temporal 
affairs  of  the  Society,  but  as  a  clear  and  efficient 
preacher  of  their  doctrines.  Martha  was  not  less  dis 
tinguished  in  the  duties  proper  to  her  sex.  Finally, 
when  the  infirmities  of  Father  Ephraim  had  admon 
ished  him  to  seek  a  successor  in  his  patriarchal  office, 
he  thought  of  Adam  and  Martha,  and  proposed  to 
renew,  in  their  persons,  the  primitive  form  of  Shaker 
government,  as  established  by  Mother  Ann.  They 
were  to  be  the  Father  and  Mother  of  the  village.  The 
simple  ceremony,  which  would  constitute  them  such, 
was  now  to  be  performed. 

4  Son  Adam,  and  daughter  Martha,'  said  the  vene 
rable  Father  Ephraim,  fixing  his  aged  eyes  piercingly 
upon  them,  '  if  ye  can  conscientiously  undertake  this 
charge,  speak,  that  the  brethren  may  not  doubt  of  your 
fitness.' 

'  Father,'  replied  Adam,  speaking  with  the  calmness 
of  his  character,  '  I  came  to  your  village  a  disap 
pointed  man,  weary  of  the  world,  worn  out  with 
continual  trouble,  seeking  only  a  security  against  evil 
fortune,  as  I  had  no  hope  of  good.  Even  my  wishes 
of  worldly  success  were  almost  dead  within  me.  I 
came  hither  as  a  man  might  come  to  a  tomb,  willing 
to  lie  down  in  its  gloom  and  coldness,  for  the  sake  of 
its  peace  and  quiet.  There  was  but  one  earthly  affec 
tion  in  my  breast,  and  it  had  grown  calmer  since  my 
youth ;  so  that  I  was  satisfied  to  bring  Martha  to  be 
my  sister,  in  our  new  abode.  We  are  brother  and 
sister;  nor  would  I  have  it  otherwise.  And  in  this 


THE    SHAKER   BRIDAL.  221 

peaceful  village  I  have  found  all  that  I  hope  for,  —  all 
that  I  desire.  I  will  strive,  with  my  best  strength,  for 
the  spiritual  and  temporal  good  of  our  community. 
My  conscience  is  not  doubtful  in  this  matter.  I  am 
ready  to  receive  the  trust.' 

4  Thou  hast  spoken  well,  son  Adam,'  said  the  Fa 
ther.  '  God  will  bless  thee  in  the  office  which  I  am 
about  to  resign.' 

'  But  our  sister ! '  observed  the  elder  from  Harvard ; 
;  hath  she  not  likewise  a  gift  to  declare  her  senti 
ments  ! ' 

Martha  started,  and  moved  her  lips,  as  if  she  would 
have  made  a  formal  reply  to  this  appeal.  But,  had 
she  attempted  it,  perhaps  the  old  recollections,  the 
long  repressed  feelings  of  childhood,  youth,  and  wo 
manhood,  might  have  gushed  from  her  heart,  in  words 
that  it  would  have  been  profanation  to  utter  there. 

c  Adam  has  spoken,'  said  she  hurriedly  ;  '  his  senti 
ments  are  likewise  mine.' 

But  while  speaking  these  few  words,  Martha  grew  so 
pale,  that  she  looked  fitter  to  be  laid  in  her  coffin,  than 
to  stand  in  the  presence  of  Father  Ephraim  and  the 
elders ;  she  shuddered,  also,  as  if  there  were  some 
thing  awful  or  horrible  in  her  situation  and  destiny. 
It  required,  indeed,  a  more  than  feminine  strength  of 
nerve,  to  sustain  the  fixed  observance  of  men  so  ex 
alted  and  famous  throughout  the  sect,  as  these  were. 
They  had  overcome  their  natural  sympathy  with  hu 
man  frailties  and  affections.  One,  when  he  joined  the 
Society,  had  brought  with  him  his  wife  and  children, 
but  never,  from  that  hour,  had  spoken  a  fond  word  to 
the  former,  or  taken  his  best-loved  child  upon  his  knee. 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


Another,  whose  family  refused  to  follow  him,  had  been 
enabled,  —  such  was  his  gift  of  holy  fortitude,  —  to 
leave  them  to  the  mercy  of  the  world.  The  youngest 
of  the  elders,  a  man  of  about  fifty,  had  been  bred  from 
infancy  in  a  Shaker  village,  and  was  said  never  to 
have  clasped  a  woman's  hand  in  his  own,  and  to  have 
no  conception  of  a  closer  tie  than  the  cold  fraternal 
one  of  the  sect.  Old  Father  Ephraim  was  the  most 
awful  character  of  all.  In  his  youth,  he  had  been  a 
dissolute  libertine,  but  was  converted  by  Mother  Ann 
herself,  and  had  partaken  of  the  wild  fanaticism  of  the 
early  Shakers.  Tradition  whispered,  at  the  firesides 
of  the  village,  that  Mother  Ann  had  been  compelled  to 
sear  his  heart  of  flesh  with  a  red-hot  iron,  before  it 
could  be  purified  from  earthly  passions. 

However  that  might  be,  poor  Martha  had  a  woman's 
heart,  and  a  tender  one,  and  it  quailed  within  her  as 
she  looked  round  at  those  strange  old  men,  and  from 
them  to  the  calm  features  of  Adam  Colburn.  But 
perceiving  that  the  elders  eyed  her  doubtfully,  she 
gasped  for  breath,  and  again  spoke. 

'  With  what  strength  is  left  me  by  my  many  trou 
bles,'  said  she,  c  I  am  ready  to  undertake  this  charge, 
and  to  do  my  best  in  it.' 

'  My  children,  join  your  hands,'  said  Father  Ephraim. 

They  did  so.  The  elders  stood  up  around,  and  the 
Father  feebly  raised  himself  to  a  more  erect  position, 
but  continued  sitting  in  his  great  chair. 

4  1  have  bidden  you  to  join  your  hands,'  said  he,  '  not 
in  earthly  affection,  for  ye  have  cast  off  its  chains  for 
ever  ;  but  as  brother  and  sister  in  spiritual  love,  and 
helpers  of  one  another  in  your  allotted  task.  Teach 


THE    SHAKER    BRIDAL.  223 

unto  others  the  faith  which  ye  have  received.  Open 
wide  your  gates,  —  I  deliver  you  the  keys  thereof,  — 
open  them  wide  to  all  who  will  give  up  the  iniquities 
of  the  world,  and  come  hither  to  lead  lives  of  purity 
and  peace.  Receive  the  weary  ones,  who  have  known 
the  vanity  of  earth,  —  receive  the  little  children,  that 
they  may  never  learn  that  miserable  lesson.  And  a 
blessing  be  upon  your  labors  ;  so  that  the  time  may 
hasten  on,  when  the  mission  of  Mother  Ann  shall  have 
wrought  its  full  effect,  —  when  children  shall  no  more 
be  born  and  die,  and  the  last  survivor  of  mortal  race, 
some  old  and  weary  man  like  me,  shall  see  the  sun 
go  down,  never  more  to  rise  on  a  world  of  sin  and 
sorrow ! ' 

The  aged  Father  sank  back  exhausted,  and  the  sur 
rounding  elders  deemed,  with  good  reason,  that  the 
hour  was  come',  when  the  new  heads  of  the  village 
must  enter  on  their  patriarchal  duties.  In  their  atten 
tion  to  Father  Ephraim,  their  eyes  were  turned  from 
Martha  Pierson,  who  grew  paler  and  paler,  unnoticed 
even  by  Adam  Colburn.  He,  indeed,  had  withdrawn 
his  hand  from  hers,  and  folded  his  arms  with  a  sense 
of  satisfied  ambition.  But  paler  and  paler  grew  Mar 
tha  by  his  side,  till,  like  a  corpse  in  its  burial  clothes, 
she  sank  down  at  the  feet  of  her  early  lover ;  for,  after 
many  trials  firmly  borne,  her  heart  could  endure  the 
weight  of  its  desolate  agony  no  longer. 


NIGHT    SKETCHES, 

BENEATH   AN   UMBRELLA. 

PLEASANT  is  a  rainy  winter's  day,  within  doors ! 
The  best  study  for  such  a  day,  or  the  best  amusement, 
—  call  it  which  you  will,  —  is  a  book  of  travels,  de 
scribing  scenes  the  most  unlike  that,  sombre  one,  which 
is  mistily  presented  through  the  windows.  I  have 
experienced,  that  fancy  is  then  most  successful  in 
imparting  distinct  shapes  and  vivid  colors  to  the  objects 
which  the  author  has  spread  upon  his  page,  and  that 
his  words  become  magic  spells  to  summon  up  a 
thousand  varied  pictures.  Strange;  landscapes  glimmer 
through  the  familiar  walls  of  the  room,  and  outlandish 
figures  thrust  themselves  almost  within  the  sacred 
precincts  of  the  hearth.  Small  as  rny  chamber  is,  it 
has  space  enough  to  contain  the  ocean-like  circumfer 
ence  of  an  Arabian  desert,  its  parched  sands  tracked 
by  the  long  line  of  a  caravan,  with  the  camels  patiently 
journeying  through  the  heavy  sunshine.  Though  my 
ceiling  be  not  lofty,  yet  I  can  pile  up  the  mountains  of 
Central  Asia  beneath  it,  till  their  summits  shine  far 
above  the  clouds  of  the  middle  atmosphere.  And, 
with  my  humble  means,  a  wealth  that  is  not  taxable, 
I  can  transport  hither  the  magnificent  merchandise  of 
an  Oriental  bazaar,  and  call  a  crowd  of  purchasers 
from  distant  countries,  to  pay  a  fair  profit  for  the 


NIGHT    SKETCHES.  225 

precious  articles  which  are  displayed  on  all  sides. 
True  it  is,  however,  that  amid  the  bustle  of  traffic,  or 
whatever  else  may  seem  to  be  going  on  around  me,  the 
rain-drops  will  occasionally  be  heard  to  patter  against 
my  window-panes,  which  look  forth  upon  one  of  the 
quietest  streets  in  a  New  England  town.  After  a  time, 
too,  the  visions  vanish,  and  will  not  appear  again  at 
my  bidding.  Then,  it  being  nightfall,  a  gloomy  sense 
of  unreality  depresses  my  spirits,  and  impels  me  to 
venture  out,  before  the  clock  shall  strike  bedtime,  to 
satisfy  myself  that  the  world  is  not  entirely  made  up 
of  such  shadowy  materials,  as  have  busied  me  through 
out  the  day. '  A  dreamer  may  dwell  so  long  among 
fantasies,  that  the  things  without  him  will  seem  as 
unreal  as  those  within. 

When  eve  has  fairly  set  in,  therefore,  I  sally  forth, 
tightly  buttoning  my  shaggy  overcoat,  and  hoisting 
my  umbrella,  the  silken  dome  of  which  immediately 
resounds  with  the  heavy  drumming  of  the  invisible 
rain-drops.  Pausing  on  the  lowest  doorstep,  I  contrast 
the  warmth  and  cheerfulness  of  my  deserted  fireside, 
with  the  drear  obscurity  and  chill  discomfort,  into 
which  I  am  about  to  plunge.  Now  come  fearful 
auguries,  innumerable  as  the  drops  of  rain.  Did  not 
my  manhood  cry  shame  upon  me,  I  should  turn  back 
within  doors,  resume  my  elbow  chair,  my  slippers, 
and  my  book,  pass  such  an  evening  of  sluggish  enjoy 
ment  as  the  day  has  been,  and  go  to  bed  inglorious. 
The  same  shivering  reluctance,  no  doubt,  has  quelled, 
for  a  moment,  the  adventurous  spirit  of  many  a  travel 
ler,  when  his  feet,  which  were  destined  to  measure 
the  earth  around,  were  leaving  their  last  tracks  in  the 
home  paths. 


226  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

In  my  own  case,  poor  human  nature  may  be  allowed 
a  few  misgivings.  I  look  upward,  and  discern  no  sky, 
not  even  an  unfathomable  void,  but  only  a  black,  im 
penetrable  nothingness,  as  though  heaven  and  all  its 
lights  were  blotted  from  the  system  of  the  universe. 
It  is  as  if  nature  were  dead,  and  the  world  had  put  on 
black,  and  the  clouds  were  weeping  for  her.  With 
their  tears  upon  my  cheek,  I  turn  my  eyes  earthward, 
but  find  little  consolation  here  below.  A  lamp  is 
burning  dimly  at  the  distant  corner,  and  throws  just 
enough  of  light  along  the  street,  to  show,  and  exag 
gerate  by  so  faintly  showing,  the  perils  and  difficulties 
which  beset  my  path.  Yonder  dingily  white  remnant 
of  a  huge  snowbank,  —  which  will  yet  cumber  the 
sidewalk  till  the  latter  days  of  March,  —  over  or 
through  that  wintry  waste  must  I  stride  onward. 
Beyond,  lies  a  certain  Slough  of  Despond,  a  concoction 
of  mud  and  liquid  filth,  ankle-deep,  leg-deep,  neck- 
deep,. —  in  a  word,  of  unknown  bottom,  —  on  which 
the  lamp-light  does  not  even  glimmer,  but  which  I 
have  occasionally  watched,  in  the  gradual  growth  of 
its  horrors,  from  morn  till  nightfall.  Should  I  flounder 
into  its  depths,  farewell  to  upper  earth  !  And  hark ! 
how  roughly  resounds  the  roaring  of  a  stream,  the 
turbulent  career  of  which  is  partially  reddened  by  the 
gleam  of  the  lamp,  but  elsewhere  brawls  noisily 
through  the  densest  gloom.  Oh,  should  I  be  swept 
away  in  fording  that  impetuous  and  unclean  torrent, 
the  coroner  will  have  a  job  with  an  unfortunate  gentle 
man,  who  would  fain  end  his  troubles  any  where  but 
in  a  mud-puddle ! 

Pshaw !  I  will  linger  not   another   instant  at  arm's 


NIGHT    SKETCHES.  227 

length  from  these  dim  terrors,  which  grow  more  ob 
scurely  formidable,  the  longer  I  delay  to  grapple  with 
them.  Now  for  the  onset !  And  lo  !  with  little  dam 
age,  save  a  dash  of  rain  in  the  face  and  breast,  a 
splash  of  mud  high  up  the  pantaloons,  and  the  left 
boot  full  of  ice-cold  water,  behold  me  at  the  corner 
of  the  street.  The  lamp  throws  down  a  circle  of  red 
light  around  me  ;  and  twinkling  onward  from  corner  to 
corner,  I  discern  other  beacons  marshalling  my  way  to 
a  brighter  scene.  But  this  is  a  lonesome  and  dreary 
spot.  The  tall  edifices  bid  gloomy  defiance  to  the 
storm,  with  their  blinds  all  closed,  even  as  a  man 
winks  when  he  faces  a  spattering  gust.  How  loudly 
tinkles  the  collected  rain  down  the  tin  spouts!  The 
puffs  of  wind  are  boisterous,  and  seem  to  assail  me 
from  various  quarters  at  once.  I  have  often  observed 
that  this  corner  is  a  haunt  and  loitering  place  for 
those  winds  which  have  no  work  to  do  upon  the  deep, 
dashing  ships  against  our  iron-bound  shores ;  nor  in 
the  forest,  tearing  up  the  sylvan  giants  with  half  a 
rood  of  soil  at  their  vast  roots.  Here  they  amuse 
themselves  with  lesser  freaks  of  mischief.  See,  at  this 
moment,  how  they  assail  yonder  poor  woman,  who  is 
passing  just  within  the  verge  of  the  lamp-light!  One 
blast  struggles  for  her  umbrella,  and  turns  it  wrong  side 
outward  ;  another  whisks  the  cape  of  her  cloak  across 
her  eyes ;  while  a  third  takes  most  unwarrantable 
liberties  with  the  lower  part  of  her  attire.  Happily, 
the  good  dame  is  no  gossamer,  but  a  figure  of  rotundity 
and  fleshly  substance ;  else  would  these  aerial  tor 
mentors  whirl  her  aloft,  like  a  witch  upon  a  broom 
stick,  and  set  her  down,  doubtless,  in  the  filthiest 
kennel  hereabout. 


228  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

From  hence  I  tread  upon  firm  pavements  into  the 
centre  of  the  town.  Here  there  is  almost  as  brilliant 
an  illumination  as  when  some  great  victory  has  been 
won,  either  on  the  battle-field  or  at  the  polls.  Two 
rows  of  shops,  with  window's  down  nearly  to  the 
ground,  cast  a  glow  from  side  to  side,  while  the  black 
night  hangs  overhead  like  a  canopy,  and  thus  keeps 
the  splendor  from  diffusing  itself  away.  The  wet 
sidewalks  gleam  with  a  broad  sheet  of  red  light. 
The  rain-drops  glitter,  as  if  the  sky  were  pouring 
down  rubies.  The  spouts  gush  with  fire.  Methinks 
the  scene  is  an  emblem  of  the  deceptive  glare,  which 
mortals  throw  around  their  footsteps  in  the  moral 
world,  thus  bedazzling  themselves,  till  they  forget  the 
impenetrable  obscurity  that  hems  them  in,  and  that 
can  be  dispelled  only  by  radiance  from  above.  And 
after  all,  it  is  a  cheerless  scene,  and  cheerless  are  the 
wanderers  in  it.  Here  comes  one  who  has  so  long 
been  familiar  with  tempestuous  weather  that  he  takes 
the  bluster  of  the  storm  for  a  friendly  greeting,  as  if  it 
should  say,  '  How  fare  ye,  brother  ? '  He  is  a  retired 
sea  captain,  wrapped  in  some  nameless  garment  of  the 
pea-jacket  order,  and  is  now  laying  his  course  towards 
the  Marine  Insurance  Office,  there  to  spin  yarns  of 
gale  and  shipwreck,  with  a  crew  of  old  sea-dogs  like 
himself.  The  blast  will  put  in  its  word  among  their 
hoarse  voices,  and  be  understood  by  all  of  them. 
Next  I  meet  an  unhappy  slipshod  gentleman,  with  a 
cloak  flung  hastily  over  his  shoulders,  running  a  race 
with  boisterous  winds,  and  striving  to  glide  between 
the  drops  of  rain.  Some  domestic  emergency  or  other 
has  blown  this  miserable  man  from  his  warm  fireside, 


NIGHT    SKETCHES.  229 

in  quest  of  a  doctor  !  See  that  little  vagabond,  —  how 
carelessly  he  has  taken  his  stand  right  underneath  a 
spout,  while  staring  at  some  object  of  curiosity  in  a 
shop-window  !  Surely  the  rain  is  his  native  element ; 
he  must  have  fallen  with  it  from  the  clouds,  as  frogs 
are  supposed  to  do. 

Here  is  a  picture,  and  a  pretty  one.  A  young  man 
and  a  girl,  both  enveloped  in  cloaks,  and  huddled 
beneath  the  scanty  protection  of  a  cotton,  umbrella. 
She  wears  rubber  overshoes  ;  but  he  is  in  his  dancing- 
pumps  ;  and  they  are  on  their  way,  no  doubt,  to  some 
cotillon  party,  or  subscription  ball  at  a  dollar  a  head, 
refreshments  included.  Thus  they  struggle  against 
the  gloomy  tempest,  lured  onward  by  a  vision  of 
festal  splendor.  But,  ah  !  a  most  lamentable  disaster. 
Bewildered  by  the  red,  blue,  and  yellow  meteors,  in 
an  apothecary's  window,  they  have  stepped  upon  a 
slippery  remnant  of  ice,  and  are  precipitated  into  a 
confluence  of  swollen  floods,  at  the  corner  of  two 
streets.  Luckless  lovers  !  Were  it  my  nature  to  be 
other  than  a  looker-on  in  life,  I  would  attempt  your 
rescue.  Since  that  may  not  be,  I  vow,  should  you  be 
drowned,  to  weave  such  a  pathetic  story  of  your  fate, 
as  shall  call  forth  tears  enough  to  drown  you  both 
anew.  Do  ye  touch  bottom,  my  young  friends  ? 
Yes  ;  they  emerge  like  a  water  nymph  and  a  river 
deity,  and  paddle  hand  in  hand  out  of  the  depths  of 
the  dark  pool.  They  hurry  homeward,  dripping, 
disconsolate,  abashed,  but  with  love  too  warm  to  be 
chilled  by  the  cold  water.  They  have  stood  a  test 
which  proves  too  strong  for  many.  Faithful,  though 
over  head  and  ears  in  trouble  ! 

VOL.  n.  15 


230  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Onward  I  go,  deriving  a  sympathetic  joy  or  sorrow 
from  the  varied  aspect  of  mortal  affairs,  even  as  my 
figure  catches  a  gleam  from  the  lighted  windows,  or 
is  blackened  by  an  interval  of  darkness.  Not  that 
mine  is  altogether  a  chameleon  spirit,  with  no  hue  of 
its  own.  Now  I  pass  into  a  more  retired  street,  where 
the  dwellings  of  wealth  and  poverty  are  intermingled, 
presenting  a  range  of  strongly  contrasted  pictures. 
Here,  too,  may  be  found  the  golden  mean.  Through 
yonder  casement  I  discern  a  family  circle,  —  the 
grandmother,  the  parents,  and  the  children,  —  all 
flickering,  shadow-like,  in  the  glow  of  a  wood-fire. 
Bluster,  fierce  blast,  and  beat,  thou  wintry  rain,  against 
the  window-panes !  Ye  cannot  damp  the  enjoyment 
of  that  fireside.  Surely  my  fate  is  hard,  that  I  should 
be  wandering  homeless  here,  taking  to  my  bosom 
night,  and  storm,  and  solitude,  instead  of  wife  and 
children.  Peace,  murmurer!  Doubt  not  that  darker 
guests  are  sitting  round  the  hearth,  though  the  warm 
blaze  hides  all  but  blissful  images.  Well  ;  here  is 
still  a  brighter  scene.  A  stately  mansion,  illuminated 
for  a  ball,  with  cut-glass  chandeliers  and  alabaster 
lamps  in  every  room,  and  sunny  landscapes  hanging 
round  the  walls.  See  !  a  coach  has  stopped,  whence 
emerges  a  slender  beauty,  who,  canopied  by  two 
umbrellas,  glides  within  the  portal,  and  vanishes  amid 
lightsome  thrills  of  music.  Will  she  ever  feel  the 
night  wind  and  the  rain  ?  Perhaps,  —  perhaps!  And 
will  Death  and  Sorrow  ever  enter  that  proud  mansion  ? 
As  surely  as  the  dancers  will  be  gay  within  its  halls 
to-night.  Such  thoughts  sadden,  yet  satisfy  my  heart ; 
for  they  teach  me  that  the  poor  man,  in  this  mean, 


NIGHT    SKETCHES.  231 

weather-beaten  hovel,  without  a  fire  to  cheer  him, 
may  call  the  rich  his  brother,  —  brethren  by  Sorrow, 
who  must  be  an  inmate  of  both  their  households, — 
brethren  by  Death,  who  will  lead  them  both  to  other 
homes. 

Onward,  still  onward,  I  plunge  into  the  night. 
Now  have  I  reached  the  utmost  limits  of  the  town, 
where  the  last  lamp  struggles  feebly  with  the  darkness, 
like  the  furthest  star  that  stands  sentinel  on  the  borders 
of  uncreated  space.  It  is  strange  what  sensations  of 
sublimity  may  spring  from  a  very  humble  source. 
Such  are  suggested  by  this  hollow  roar  of  a  subter 
ranean  cataract,  where  the  mighty  stream  of  a  kennel 
precipitates  itself  beneath  an  iron  grate,  and  is  seen  no 
more  on  earth.  Listen  awhile  to  its  voice  of  mystery ; 
and  fancy  will  magnify  it,  till  you  start,  and  smile  at 
the  illusion.  And  now  another  sound,  —  the  rumbling 
of  wheels,  —  as  the  mail-coach,  outward  bound,  rolls 
heavily  off  the  pavements,  and  splashes  through  the 
mud  and  water  of  the  road.  All  night  long,  the  poor 
passengers  will  be  tossed  to  and  fro  between  drowsy 
watch  and  troubled  sleep,  and  will  dream  of  their  own 
quiet  beds,  and  awake  to  find  themselves  still  jolting 
onward.  Happier  my  lot,  who  will  straightway  hie 
me  to  my  familiar  room,  and  toast  myself  comfortably 
before  the  fire,  musing,  and  fitfully  dozing,  and  fancy 
ing  a  strangeness  in  such  sights  as  all  may  see.  But 
first  let  me  gaze  at  this  solitary  figure,  who  comes 
hitherward  with  a  tin  lantern,  which  throws  the  circular 
pattern  of  its  punched  holes  on  the  ground  about  him. 
He  passes  fearlessly  into  the  unknown  gloom,  whither 
I  will  not  follow  him. 


232  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

This  figure  shall  supply  me  with  a  moral,  where 
with,  for  lack  of  a  more  appropriate  one,  I  may  wind 
up  my  sketch.  He  fears  not  to  tread  the  dreary  path 
before  him,  because  his  lantern,  which  was  kindled  at 
the  fireside  of  his  home,  will  light  him  back  to  that 
same  fireside  again.  And  thus  we,  night-wanderers 
through  a  stormy  and  dismal  world,  if  we  bear  the 
lamp  of  Faith,  enkindled  at  a  celestial  fire,  it  will 
surely  lead  us  home  to  that  Heaven  whence  its 
radiance  was  borrowed. 


ENDICOTT  AND  THE   RED  CROSS. 

AT  noon  of  an  autumnal  day,  more  than  two  centu 
ries  ago,  the  English  colors  were  displayed  by  the 
standard-bearer  of  the  Salem  trainband,  which  had 
mustered  for  martial  exercise  under  the  orders  of 
John  Endicott.  It  was  a  period,  when  the  religious 
exiles  were  accustomed  often  to  buckle  on  their  armor, 
and  practise  the  handling  of  their  weapons  of  war. 
Since  the  first  settlement  of  New  England,  its  pros 
pects  had  never  been  so  dismal.  The  dissensions 
between  Charles  the  First  and  his  subjects  were  then, 
and  for  several  years  afterwards,  confined  to  the  floor 
of  Parliament.  The  measures  of  the  King  and  ministry 
were  rendered  more  tyrannically  violent  by  an  opposi 
tion,  which  had  not  yet  acquired  sufficient  confidence 
in  its  own  strength,  to  resist  royal  injustice  with  the 
sword.  The  bigoted  and  haughty  primate,  Laud, 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  controlled  the  religious 
affairs  of  the  realm,  and  was  consequently  invested 
with  powers  which  might  have  wrought  the  utter  ruin 
of  the  two  Puritan  colonies,  Plymouth  and  Massachu 
setts.  There  is  evidence  on  record,  that  our  fore 
fathers  perceived  their  danger,  but  were  resolved  that 
their  infant  country  should  not  fall  without  a  struggle, 
even  beneath  the  giant  strength  of  the  King's  right 
arm. 


234  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  times,  when  the  folds  of 
the  English  banner,  with  the  Red  Cross  in  its  field, 
were  flung  out  over  a  company  of  Puritans.  Their 
leader,  the  famous  Endicott,  was  a  man  of  stern  and 
resolute  countenance,  the  effect  of  which  was  height 
ened  by  a  grizzled  beard  that  swept  the  upper  portion 
of  his  breastplate.  This  piece  of  armor  was  so  highly 
polished,  that  the  whole  surrounding  scene  had  its 
image  in  the  glittering  steel.  The  central  object  in 
the  mirrored  picture,  was  an  edifice  of  humble  archi 
tecture,  with  neither  steeple  nor  bell  to  proclaim  it,  — 
what  nevertheless  it  was,  —  the  house  of  prayer.  A 
token  of  the  perils  of  the  wilderness  was  seen  in  the 
grim  head  of  a  wolf,  which  had  just  been  slain  within 
the  precincts  of  the  town,  and  according  to  the  regular 
mode  of  claiming  the  bounty,  was  nailed  on  the  porch 
of  the  meeting-house.  The  blood  was  still  plashing  on 
the  doorstep.  There  happened  to  be  visible,  at  the 
same  noontide  hour,  so  many  other  characteristics  of 
the  times  and  manners  of  the  Puritans,  that  we  must 
endeavor  to  represent  them  in  a  sketch,  though  far  less 
vividly  than  they  were  reflected  in  the  polished  breast 
plate  of  John  Endicott. 

In  close  vicinity  to  the  sacred  edifice  appeared  that 
important  engine  of  Puritanic  authority,  the  whipping 
post  —  with  the  soil  around  it  well  trodden  by  the  feet 
of  evil-doers,  who  had  there  been  disciplined.  At  one 
corner  of  the  meeting-house  was  the  pillory,  and  at  the 
other  the  stocks  ;  and,  by  a  singular  good  fortune  for 
our  sketch,  the  head  of  an  Episcopalian  and  suspected 
Catholic  was  grotesquely  incased  in  the  former  ma 
chine  ;  while  a  fellow-criminal,  who  had  boisterously 


ENDICOTT  AND  THE  RED  CROSS.        235 

quaffed  a  health  to  the  king,  was  confined  by  the  legs 
in  the  latter.  Side  by  side,  on  the  meeting-house  steps, 
stood  a  male  and  a  female  figure.  The  man  was  a 
tall,  lean,  haggard  personification  of  fanaticism,  bear 
ing  on  his  breast  this  label,  —  A  WANTON  GOSPELLER, 
—  which  betokened  that  he  had  dared  to  give  inter 
pretations  of  Holy  Writ,  unsanctioned  by  the  infallible 
judgment  of  the  civil  and  religious  rulers.  His  aspect 
showed  no  lack  of  zeal  to  maintain  his  heterodoxies, 
even  at  the  stake.  The  woman  wore  a  cleft  stick 
on  her  tongue,  in  appropriate  retribution  for  having 
wagged  that  unruly  member  against  the  elders  of  the 
church ;  and  her  countenance  and  gestures  gave  much 
cause  to  apprehend,  that,  the  moment  the  stick  should 
be  removed,  a  repetition  of  the  offence  would  demand 
new  ingenuity  in  chastising  it. 

The  above-mentioned  individuals  had  been  sentenced 
to  undergo  their  various  modes  of  ignominy,  for  the 
space  of  one  hour  at  noonday.  But  among  the  crowd 
were  several,  whose  punishment  would  be  lifelong ; 
some,  whose  ears  had  been  cropt,  like  those  of  puppy- 
dogs  ;  others,  whose  cheeks  had  been  branded  with  the 
initials  of  their  misdemeanors ;  one,  with  his  nostrils 
slit  and  seared ;  and  another,  with  a  halter  about  his 
neck,  which  he  was  forbidden  ever  to  take  off,  or  to 
conceal  beneath  his  garments.  Methinks  he  must 
have  been  grievously  tempted  to  affix  the  other  end  of 
the  rope  to  some  convenient  beam  or  bough.  There 
was  likewise  a  young  woman,  with  no  mean  share  of 
beauty,  whose  doom  it  was  to  wear  the  letter  A  on  the 
breast  of  her  gown,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world  and 
her  own  children.  And  even  her  own  children  knew 


236  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

what  that  initial  signified.  Sporting  with  her  infamy, 
the  lost  and  desperate  creature  had  embroidered  the 
fatal  token  in  scarlet  cloth,  with  golden  thread  and  the 
nicest  art  of  needle -work  ;  so  that  the  capital  A  might 
have  been  thought  to  mean  Admirable,  or  any  thing 
rather  than  Adulteress. 

Let  not  the  reader  argue,  from  any  of  these  evi 
dences  of  iniquity,  that  the  times  of  the  Puritans  were 
more  vicious  than  our  own,  when,  as  we  pass  along 
the  very  street  of  this  sketch,  we  discern  no  badge  of 
infamy  on  man  or  woman.  It  was  the  policy  of  our 
ancestors  to  search  out  even  the  most  secret  sins,  and 
expose  them  to  shame,  without  fear  or  favor,  in  the 
broadest  light  of  the  noonday  sun.  Were  such  the 
custom  now,  perchance  we  might  find  materials  for  a 
no  less  piquant  sketch  than  the  above. 

Except  the  malefactors  whom  we  have  described, 
and  the  diseased  or  infirm  persons,  the  whole  male 
population  of  the  town,  between  sixteen  years  and 
sixty,  were  seen  in  the  ranks  of  the  trainband.  A 
few  stately  savages,  in  all  the  pomp  and  dignity  of 
the  primeval  Indian,  stood  gazing  at  the  spectacle. 
Their  flint-headed  arrows  were  but  childish  weapons, 
compared  with  the  matchlocks  of  the  Puritans,  and 
would  have  rattled  harmlessly  against  the  steel  caps 
and  hammered  iron  breastplates,  which  inclosed  each 
soldier  in  an  individual  fortress.  The  valiant  John 
Endicott  glanced  with  an  eye  of  pride  at  his  sturdy 
followers,  and  prepared  to  renew  the  martial  toils  of 
the  day. 

'  Come,  my  stout  hearts  ! '  quoth  he,  drawing  his 
sword.  4  Let  us  show  these  poor  heathen  that  we  can 


ENDICOTT  AND  THE  RED  CROSS.        237 

handle  our  weapons  like  men  of  might.  Well  for 
them,  if  they  put  us  not  to  prove  it  in  earnest ! ' 

The  iron-breasted  company  straightened  their  line, 
and  each  man  drew  the  heavy  butt  of  his  matchlock 
close  to  his  left  foot,  thus  awaiting  the  orders  of  the 
captain.  But,  as  Endicott  glanced  right  and  left  along 
the  front,  he  discovered  a  personage  at  some  little 
distance,  with  whom  it  behoved  him  to  hold  a  parley. 
It  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  wearing  a  black  cloak  and 
band,  and  a  high  crowned  hat,  beneath  which  was  a 
velvet  skull-cap,  the  whole  being  the  garb  of  a  Puritan 
minister.  This  reverend  person  bore  a  staff,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  recently  cut  in  the  forest,  and  his 
shoes  were  bemired,  as  if  he  had  been  travelling  on 
foot  through  the  swamps  of  the  wilderness.  His  aspect 
was  perfectly  that  of  a  pilgrim,  heightened  also  by  an 
'apostolic  dignity.  Just  as  Endicott  perceived  him,  he 
laid  aside  his  staff,  and  stooped  to  drink  at  a  bubbling 
fountain,  which  gushed  into  the  sunshine  about  a  score 
of  yards  from  the  corner  of  the  meeting-house.  But, 
ere  the  good  man  drank,  he  turned  his  face  heaven 
ward  in  thankfulness,  and  then,  holding  back  his  gray 
beard  with  one  hand,  he  scooped  up  his  simple  draught 
in  the  hollow  of  the  other. 

1  What,  ho !  good  Mr.  Williams,'  shouted  Endicott. 
1  You  are  welcome  back  again  to  our  town  of  peace. 
How  does  our  worthy  Governor  Winthrop  ?  And  what 
news  from  Boston  ? ' 

4  The  Governor  hath  his  health,  worshipful  Sir,' 
answered  Roger  Williams,  now  resuming  his  staff,  and 
drawing  near.  4  And,  for  the  news,  here  is  a  letter, 
which,  knowing  I  was  to  travel  hitherward  to-day, 


238  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

his  Excellency  committed  to  my  charge.  Belike  it 
contains  tidings  of  much  import ;  for  a  ship  arrived 
yesterday  from  England.' 

Mr.  Williams,  the  minister  of  Salem,  and  of  course 
known  to  all  the  spectators,  had  now  reached  the  spot 
where  Endicott  was  standing  under  the  banner  of  his 
company,  and  put  the  Governor's  epistle  into  his  hand. 
The  broad  seal  was  impressed  with  Winthrop's  coat  of 
arms.  Endicott  hastily  unclosed  the  letter,  and  began 
to  read ;  while,  as  his  eye  passed  down  the  page,  a 
wrathful  change  came  over  his  manly  countenance. 
The  blood  glowed  through  it,  till  it  seemed  to  be  kind 
ling  with  an  internal  heat ;  nor  was  it  unnatural  to 
suppose  that  his  breastplate  would  likewise  become  red- 
hot,  with  the  angry  fire  of  the  bosom  which  it  covered. 
Arriving  at  the  conclusion,  he  shook  the  letter  fiercely 
in  his  hand,  so  that  it  rustled  as  loud  as  the  flag  abovex 
his  head. 

4  Black  tidings  these,  Mr.  Williams,'  said  he  ;  '  blacker 
never  came  to  New  England.  Doubtless  you  know 
their  purport  ? ' 

4  Yea,  truly,'  replied  Roger  Williams  ;  '  for  the 
Governor  consulted,  respecting  this  matter,  with  my 
brethren  in  the  ministry  at  Boston  ;  and  my  opinion 
was  likewise  asked.  And  his  Excellency  entreats  you 
by  me,  that  the  news  be  not  suddenly  noised  abroad, 
lest  the  people  be  stirred  up  unto  some  outbreak,  and 
thereby  give  the  King  and  the  Archbishop  a  handle 
against  us.' 

4  The  Governor  is  a  wise  man,  —  a  wise  man,  and 
a  meek  and  moderate,'  said  Endicott,  setting  his  teeth 
grimly.  4  Nevertheless,  I  must  do  according  to  my 


ENDICOTT  AND  THE  RED  CROSS.        239 

own  best  judgment.  There  is  neither  man,  woman, 
nor  child  in  New  England,  but  has  a  concern  as  dear 
as  life  in  these  tidings  ;  and  if  John  Endicott's  voice 
be  loud  enough,  man,  woman,  and  child  shall  hear 
them.  Soldiers,  wheel  into  a  hollow  square !  Ho, 
good  people !  Here  are  news  for  one  and  all  of 
you.' 

The  soldiers  closed  in  around  their  captain  ;  and  he 
and  Roger  Williams  stood  together  under  the  banner 
of  the  lied  Cross ;  while  the  women  and  the  aged  men 
pressed  forward,  and  the  mothers  held  up  their  chil 
dren  to  look  Endicott  in  the  face.  A  few  taps  of  the 
drum  gave  signal  for  silence  and  attention. 

4  Fellow-soldiers,  —  fellow-exiles,'  began  Endicott, 
speaking  under  strong  excitement,  yet  powerfully 
restraining  it,  '  wherefore  did  ye  leave  your  native 
country  ?  Wherefore,  I  say,  have  we  left  the  green 
and  fertile  fields,  the  cottages,  or,  perchance,  the  old 
gray  halls,  where  we  were  born  and  bred,  the  church 
yards  where  our  forefathers  lie  buried  ?  Wherefore 
have  we  come  hither  to  set  up  our  own  tomb-stones  in 
a  wilderness  ?  A  howling  wilderness  it  is  !  The  wolf 
and  the  bear  meet  us  within  halloo  of  our  dwellings. 
The  savage  lieth  in  wait  for  us  in  the  dismal  shadow 
of  the  woods.  The  stubborn  roots  of  the  trees  break 
our  ploughshares,  when  we  would  till  the  earth.  Our 
children  cry  for  bread,  and  we  must  dig  in  the  sands 
of  the  seashore  to  satisfy  them.  Wherefore,  I  say 
again,  have  we  sought  this  country  of  a  rugged  soil 
and  wintry  sky  ?  Was  it  not  for  the  enjoyment  of  our 
civil  rights  ?  Was  it  not  for  liberty  to  worship  God 
according  to  our  conscience  ? ' 


240  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

4  Call  you  this  liberty  of  conscience  ?  '  interrupted  a 
voice  on  the  steps  of  the  meeting-house. 

It  was  the  Wanton  Gospeller.  A  sad  and  quiet 
smile  flitted  across  the  mild  visage  of  Roger  Williams. 
But  Endicott,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  shook 
his  sword  wrathfully  at  the  culprit,  —  an  ominous  ges 
ture  from  a  man  like  him. 

'What  hast  thou  to  do  with  conscience,  thou  knave  ?  ' 
cried  he.  '  I  said  liberty  to  worship  God,  not  license  to 
profane  and  ridicule  him.  Break  not  in  upon  my 
speech  ;  or  I  will  lay  thee  neck  and  heels  till  this  time 
to-morrow  !  Hearken  to  me,  friends,  nor  heed  that 
accursed  rhapsodist.  As  I  was  saying,  we  have  sacri 
ficed  all  things,  and  have  come  to  a  land  whereof  the 
old  world  hath  scarcely  heard,  that  we  might  make  a 
new  world  unto  ourselves,  and  painfully  seek  a  path 
from  hence  to  heaven.  But  what  think  ye  now  ? 
This  son  of  a  Scotch  tyrant,  —  this  grandson  of  a 
papistical  and  adulterous  Scotch  woman,  whose  death 
proved  that  a  golden  crown  doth  not  always  save 
an  anointed  head  from  the  block  — ' 

4  Nay,  brother,  nay,'  interposed  Mr.  Williams  ;  '  thy 
words  are  not  meet  for  a  secret  chamber,  far  less  for  a 
public  street.' 

'  Hold  thy  peace,  Roger  Williams  ! '  answered  En 
dicott,  imperiously.  '  My  spirit  is  wiser  than  thine,  for 
the  business  now  in  hand.  I  tell  ye,  fellow-exiles, 
that  Charles  of  England,  and  Laud,  our  bitterest 
persecutor,  arch-priest  of  Canterbury,  are  resolute  to 
pursue  us  even  hither.  They  are  taking  counsel,  saith 
this  letter,  to  send  over  a  governor-general,  in  whose 
breast  shall  be  deposited  all  the  law  and  equity  of  the 


ENDICOTT  AND  THE  RED  CROSS.        241 

land.  They  are  minded,  also,  to  establish  the  idola 
trous  forms  of  English  Episcopacy  ;  so  that,  when 
Laud  shall  kiss  the  Pope's  toe,  as  cardinal  of  Rome, 
he  may  deliver  New  England,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
into  the  power  of  his  master  ! ' 

A  deep  groan  from  the  auditors,  —  a  sound  of  wrath, 
as  well  as  fear  and  sorrow,  —  responded  to  this  intel 
ligence. 

'Look  ye  to  it,  brethren,'  resumed  Endicott,  with 
increasing  energy.  '  If  this  king  and  this  arch-prelate 
have  their  will,  we  shall  briefly  behold  a  cross  on  the 
spire  of  this  tabernacle  which  we  have  builded,  and 
a  high  altar  within  its  walls,  with  wax  tapers  burning 
round  it  at  noonday.  We  shall  hear  the  sacring-bell, 
and  the  voices  of  the  Romish  priests  saying  the  mass. 
But  think  ye,  Christian  men,  that  these  abominations 
may  be  suffered  without  a  sword  drawn  ?  without  a 
shot  fired  ?  without  blood  spilt,  yea,  on  the  very  stairs 
of  the  pulpit  ?  No,  —  be  ye  strong  of  hand,  and  stout 
of  heart !  Here  we  stand  on  our  own  soil,  which  we 
have  bought  with  our  goods,  which  we  have  won  with 
our  swords,  which  we  have  cleared  with  our  axes, 
which  we  have  tilled  with  the  sweat  of  our  brows, 
which  we  have  sanctified  with  our  prayers  to  the  God 
that  brought  us  hither !  Who  shall  enslave  us  here  ? 
What  have  we  to  do  with  this  mitred  prelate,  —  with 
this  crowned  king  ?  What  have  we  to  do  with  Eng 
land  ? ' 

Endicott  gazed  round  at  the  excited  countenances 
of  the  people,  now  full  of  his  own  spirit,  and  then 
turned  suddenly  to  the  standard-bearer,  who  stood 
close  behind  him. 


242  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

1  Officer,  lower  your  banner! '    said  he. 

The  officer  obeyed  ;  and,  brandishing  his  sword, 
Endicott  thrust  it  through  the  cloth,  and,  with  his  left 
hand,  rent  the  Red  Cross  completely  out  of  the  ban 
ner.  He  then  waved  the  tattered  ensign  above  his 
head. 

4  Sacrilegious  wretch  ! '  cried  the  high-churchman 
in  the  pillory,  unable  longer  to  restrain  himself;  '  thou 
hast  rejected  the  symbol  of  our  holy  religion  ! ' 

4  Treason,  treason  ! '  roared  the  royalist  in  the  stocks. 
1  He  hath  defaced  the  King's  banner ! ' 

4  Before  God  and  man,  I  will  avouch  the  deed,'  an 
swered  Endicott.  '  Beat  a  flourish,  drummer  !  —  shout, 
soldiers  and  people  ! « —  in  honor  of  the  ensign  of  New 
England.  Neither  Pope  nor  Tyrant  hath  part  in  it 
now ! ' 

With  a  cry  of  triumph,  the  people  gave  their  sanc 
tion  to  one  of  the  boldest  exploits  which  our  history 
records.  And,  for  ever  honored  be  the  name  of  En 
dicott  !  We  look  back  through  the  mist  of  ages,  and 
recognise,  in  the  rending  of  the  Red  Cross  from  New 
England's  banner,  the  first  omen  of  that  deliverance 
which  our  fathers  consummated,  after  the  bones  of  the 
stern  Puritan  had  lain  more  than  a  century  in  the 
dust. 


THE    LILY'S    QUEST. 

AN   APOLOGUE. 

Two  lovers,  once  upon  a  time,  had  planned  a  little 
summer-house,  in  the  form  of  an  antique  temple, 
which  it  was  their  purpose  to  consecrate  to  all  manner 
of  refined  and  innocent  enjoyments.  There  they  would 
hold  pleasant  intercourse  with  one  another,  and  the 
circle  of  their  familiar  friends ;  there  they  would  give 
festivals  of  delicious  fruit  ;  there  they  would  hear 
lightsome  music,  intermingled  with  the  strains  of 
pathos  which  make  joy  more  sweet ;  there  they  would 
read  poetry  and  fiction,  and  permit  their  own  minds 
to  flit  away  in  day-dreams  and  romance ;  there,  in 
short  —  for  why  should  we  shape  out  the  vague  sun 
shine  of  their  hopes  ?  —  there  all  pure  delights  were 
to  cluster  like  roses  among  the  pillars  of  the  edifice, 
and  blossom  ever  new  and  spontaneously.  So,  one 
breezy  and  cloudless  afternoon,  Adam  Forrester  and 
Lilias  Fay  set  out  upon  a  ramble  over  the  wide  estate 
which  they  were  to  possess  together,  seeking  a  proper 
site  for  their  Temple  of  Happiness.  They  were 
themselves  a  fair  and  happy  spectacle,  fit  priest  and 
priestess  for  such  a  shrine  ;  although,  making  poetry 
of  the  pretty  name  of  Lilias,  Adam  Forrester  was 


244  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

wont  to  call  her  LILY,  because  her  form  was  as  fragile, 
and  her  cheek  almost  as  pale. 

As  they  passed,  hand  in  hand,  down  the  avenue  of 
drooping  elms,  that  led  from  the  portal  of  Lilias 
Fay's  paternal  mansion,  they  seemed  to  glance  like 
winged  creatures  through  the  strips  of  sunshine,  and 
to  scatter  brightness  where  the  deep  shadows  fell. 
But,  setting  forth  at  the  same  time  with  this  youthful 
pair,  there  was  a  dismal  figure,  wrapt  in  a  black 
velvet  cloak  that  might  have  been  made  of  a  coffin- 
pall,  and  with  a  sombre  hat,  such  as  mourners  wear, 
drooping  its  broad  brim  over  his  heavy  brows.  Glanc 
ing  behind  them,  the  lovers  well  knew  who  it  was 
that  followed,  but  wished  from  their  hearts  that  he  had 
been  elsewhere,  as  being  a  companion  so  strangely 
unsuited  to  their  joyous  errand.  It  was  a  near  relative 
of  Lilias  Fay,  an  old  man  by  the  name  of  Walter 
Gascoigne,  who  had  long  labored  under  the  burthen 
of  a  melancholy  spirit,  which  was  sometimes  mad 
dened  into  absolute  insanity,  and  always  had  a  tinge 
of  it.  What  a  contrast  between  the  young  pilgrims 
of  bliss,  and  their  unbidden  associate  !  They  looked 
as  if  moulded  of  Heaven's  sunshine,  and  he  of  earth's 
gloomiest  shade ;  they  flitted  along  like  Hope  and 
Joy,  roaming  hand  in  hand  through  life  ;  while  his 
darksome  figure  stalked  behind,  a  type  of  all  the 
woful  influences  which  life  could  fling  upon  them. 
But  the  three  had  not  gone  far,  when  they  reached  a 
spot  that  pleased  the  gentle  Lily,  and  she  paused. 

'  What  sweeter  place  shall  we  find  than  this  ? '  said 
she.  '  Why  should  we  seek  further  for  the  site  of  our 
Temple  ? ' 


245 


It  was  indeed  a  delightful  spot  of  earth,  though 
undistinguished  by  any  very  prominent  beauties,  being 
merely  a  nook  in  the  shelter  of  a  hill,  with  the 
prospect  of  a  distant  lake  in  one  direction,  and  of  a 
church  spire  in  another.  There  were  vistas  and 
pathways,  leading  onward  and  onward  into  the  green 
woodlands,  and  vanishing  away  in  the  glimmering 
shade.  The  Temple,  if  erected  here,  would  look 
towards  the  west :  so  that  the  lovers  could  shape  all 
sorts  of  magnificent  dreams  out  of  the  purple,  violet, 
and  gold  of  the  sunset  sky ;  and  few  of  their  antici 
pated  pleasures  were  dearer  than  this  sport  of  fantasy. 

'  Yes,'  said  Adam  Forrester,  '  we  might  seek  all 
day,  and  find  no  lovelier  spot.  We  will  build  our 
Temple  here.' 

But  their  sad  old  companion,  who  had  taken  his 
stand  on  the  very  site  which  they  proposed  to  cover 
with  a  marble  floor,  shook  his  head  and  frowned ; 
and  the  young  man  and  the  Lily  deemed  it  almost 
enough  to  blight  the  spot,  and  desecrate  it  for  their 
airy  Temple,  that  his  dismal  figure  had  thrown  its 
shadow  there.  He  pointed  to  some  scattered  stones, 
the  remnants  of  a  former  structure,  and  to  flowers 
such  as  young  girls  delight  to  nurse  in  their  gardens, 
but  which  had  now  relapsed  into  the  wild  simplicity 
of  nature. 

'  Not  here  ! '  cried  old  Walter  Gascoigne.  '  Here, 
long  ago,  other  mortals  built  their  Temple  of  Happi 
ness.  Seek  another  site  for  yours  ! ' 

4  What ! '  exclaimed  Lilias  Fay.  '  Have  any  ever 
planned  such  a  Temple,  save  ourselves  ? ' 

'  Poor  child  ! '  said  her  gloomy  kinsman.     '  In  one 

VOL.  II.  16 


246  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

shape  or  other,  every  mortal  has  dreamed  your 
dream.' 

Then  he  told  the  lovers,  how  —  not,  indeed,  an 
antique  Temple  —  but  a  dwelling  had  once  stood 
there,  and  that  a  dark-clad  guest  had  dwelt  among 
its  inmates,  sitting  for  ever  at  the  fireside,  and  poison 
ing  all  their  household  mirth.  Under  this  type,  Adam 
Forrester  and  Lilias  saw  that  the  old  man  spake 
of  Sorrow.  He  told  of  nothing  that  might  not  be 
recorded  in  the  history  of  almost  every  household ; 
and  yet  his  hearers  felt  as  if  no  sunshine  ought  to 
fall  upon  a  spot,  where  human  grief  had  left  so  deep 
a  stain ;  or,  at  least,  that  no  joyous  Temple  should  be 
built  there. 

4  This  is  very  sad,'  said  the  Lily,  sighing. 

'  Well,  there  are  lovelier  spots  than  this,'  said  Adam 
Forrester,  soothingly  —  'spots  which  sorrow  has  not 
blighted.' 

So  they  hastened  away,  and  the  melancholy  Gas- 
coigne  followed  them,  looking  as  if  he  had  gathered 
up  all  the  gloom  of  the  deserted  spot,  and  was  bearing 
it  as  a  burthen  of  inestimable  treasure.  But  still  they 
rambled  on,  and  soon  found  themselves  in  a  rocky 
dell,  through  the  midst  of  which  ran  a  streamlet,  with 
ripple,  and  foam,  and  a  continual  voice  of  inarticulate 
joy.  It  was  a  wild  retreat,  walled  on  cither  side  with 
gray  precipices,  which  would  have  frowned  somewhat 
too  sternly,  had  not  a  profusion  of  green  shrubbery 
rooted  itself  into  their  crevices,  and  wreathed  gladsome 
foliage  around  their  solemn  brows.  But  the  chief  joy 
of  the  dell  was  in  the  little  stream,  which  seemed  like 
the  presence  of  a  blissful  child,  with  nothing  earthly 


THE  LILY'S  QUEST.  247 

to  do,  save  to  babble  merrily  and  disport  itself,  and 
make  every  living  soul  its  playfellow,  and  throw  the 
sunny  gleams  of  its  spirit  upon  all. 

4  Here,  here  is  the  spot! '  cried  the  two  lovers  with 
one  voice,  as  they  reached  a  level  space  on  the  brink 
of  a  small  cascade.  '  This  glen  was  made  on  purpose 
for  our  Temple ! 

'  And  the  glad  song  of  the  brook  will  be  always  in 
our  ears,'  said  Lilias  Fay.' 

'And  its  long  melody  shall  sing  the  bliss  of  our 
lifetime,'  said  Adam  Forrester. 

'  Ye  must  build  no  Temple  here  ! '  murmured  their 
dismal  companion. 

And  there  again  was  the  old  lunatic,  standing  just 
on  the  spot  where  they  meant  to  rear  their  lightsome 
dome,  and  looking  like  the  embodied  symbol  of  some 
great  woe,  that,  in  forgotten  days,  had  happened  there. 
And,  alas!  there  had  been  woe,  nor  that  alone.  A 
young  man,  more  than  a  hundred  years  before,  had 
lured  hither  a  girl  that  loved  him,  and  on  this  spot 
had  murdered  her,  and  washed  his  bloody  hands  in 
the  stream  which  sang  so  merrily.  And  ever  since, 
the  victim's  death  shrieks  were  often  heard  to  echo 
between  the  cliffs. 

1  And  see  ! '  cried  old  Gascoigne,  l  is  the  stream 
yet  pure  from  the  stain  of  the  murderer's  hands  ? ' 

1  Methinks  it  has  a  tinge  of  blood,'  faintly  answered 
the  Lily ;  and  being  as  slight  as  the  gossamer,  she 
trembled  and  clung  to  her  lover's  arm,  whispering, 
'  let  us  flee  from  this  dreadful  vale  ! ' 

1  Come,  then,'  said  Adam  Forrester,  as  cheerily  as 
he  could  ;  '  we  shall  soon  find  a  happier  spot.' 


248  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

They  set  forth  again,  young  Pilgrims  on  that  quest 
which  millions  —  which  every  child  of  Earth  —  has 
tried  in  turn.     And  were  the  Lily  and  her  lover  to 
be   more   fortunate   than    all   those    millions  ?     For   a 
long   time,  it  seemed  not  so.     The  dismal  shape   of 
the  old  lunatic  still  glided  behind  them  ;  and  for  every 
spot  that  looked  lovely  in   their   eyes,  he    had  some 
legend  of   human   wrong   or   suffering,  so    miserably 
sad,  that  his  auditors  could  never  afterwards  connect 
the  idea  of  joy  with  the  place  where  it  had  happened. 
Here,  a  heart-broken  woman,  kneeling  to  her  child, 
had  been  spurned  from  his  feet ;  here,  a  desolate  old 
creature  had  prayed  to  the  evil  one,  and  had  received 
a  fiendish  malignity  of  soul,  in  answer  to  her  prayer  ; 
here,  a  new-born  infant,  sweet  blossom  of  life,  had 
been  found    dead,  with   the    impress  of  its   mother's 
fingers  round  its  throat ;  and  here,  under  a  shattered 
oak,  two  lovers  had  been  stricken  by  lightning,  and 
fell    blackened   corpses    in   each    other's    arms.     The 
dreary  Gascoigne    had  a  gift  to  know  whatever  evil 
and  lamentable  thing  had  stained  the  bosom  of  mother 
Earth ;  and  when  his  funereal  voice  had  told  the  tale, 
it  appeared  like  a   prophecy  of   future   woe,  as  well 
as  a  tradition  of   the   past.     And  now,  by  their   sad 
demeanor,   you   would  have  fancied  that  the   pilgrim 
lovers  were  seeking,  not  a  temple  of  earthly  joy,  but 
a  tomb  for  themselves  and  their  posterity.' 

*  Where  in  this  world,'  exclaimed  Adam  Forrester, 
despondingly,  '  shall  we  build  our  Temple  of  Happi 
ness  ? ' 

4  Where  in  this  world,  indeed ! '  repeated  Lilias 
Fay  ;  and  being  faint  and  weary,  the  more  so  by  the 


THE  LILY'S  QUEST.  249 

heaviness  of  her  heart,  the  Lily  drooped  her  head  and 
sat  down  on  the  summit  of  a  knoll,  repeating,  '  Where 
in  this  world  shall  we  build  our  Temple  ?  ' 

1  Ah  !  have  you  already  asked  yourselves  that  ques 
tion  ? '  said  their  companion,  his  shaded  features  grow 
ing  even  gloomier  with  the  smile  that  dwelt  on  them  ; 
4  yet  there  is  a  place,  even  in  this  world,  where  ye  may 
build  it.' 

While  the  old  man  spoke,  Adam  Forrester  and 
Lilias  had  carelessly  thrown  their  eyes  around,  and 
perceived  that  the  spot  where  they  had  chanced  to 
pause,  possessed  a  quiet  charm,  which  was  well  enough 
adapted  to  their  present  mood  of  mind.  Tt  was  a  small 
rise  of  ground,  with  a  certain  regularity  of  shape,  that 
had  perhaps  been  bestowed  by  art;  and  a  group  of 
trees,  which  almost  surrounded  it,  threw  their  pensive 
shadows  across  and  far  beyond,  although  some  soft 
ened  glory  of  the  sunshine  found  its  way  there.  The 
ancestral  mansion,  wherein  the  lovers  would  dwell 
together,  appeared  on  one  side,  and  the  ivied  church, 
where  they  were  to  worship,  on  another.  Happening 
to  cast  their  eyes  on  the  ground,  they  smiled,  yet  with 
a  sense  of  wonder,  to  see  that  a  pale  lily  was  growing 
at  their  feet. 

'  We  will  build  our  Temple  here,'  said  they,  simul 
taneously,  and  with  an  indescribable  conviction,  that 
they  had  at  last  found  the  very  spot. 

Yet,  while  they  uttered  this  exclamation,  the  young 
man  and  the  Lily  turned  an  apprehensive  glance  at 
their  dreary  associate,  deeming  it  hardly  possible  that 
some  tale  of  earthly  affliction  should  not  make  those 
precincts  loathsome,  as  in  every  former  case.  The 


250  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

old  man  stood  just  behind  them,  so  as  to  form  the 
chief  figure  in  the  group,  with  his  sable  cloak  muffling 
the  lower  part  of  his  visage,  and  his  sombre  hat  over 
shadowing  his  brows.  But  he  gave  no  word  of  dissent 
from  their  purpose ;  and  an  inscrutable  smile  was 
accepted  by  the  lovers  as  a  token  that  here  had  been 
no  foot-print  of  guilt  or  sorrow,  to  desecrate  the  site 
of  their  Temple  of  Happiness. 

In  a  little  time  longer,  while  summer  was  still  in 
its  prime,  the  fairy  structure  of  the  Temple  arose  on 
the  summit  of  the  knoll,  amid  the  solemn  shadows  of 
the  trees,  yet  often  gladdened  with  bright  sunshine. 
It  was  built  of  white  marble,  with  slender  and  graceful 
pillars,  supporting  a  vaulted  dome;  and  beneath  the 
centre  of  this  dome,  upon  a  pedestal,  was  a  slab  of 
dark-veined  marble,  on  which  books  and  music  might 
be  strewn.  But  there  was  a  fantasy  among  the  people 
of  the  neighborhood,  that  the  edifice  was  planned  after 
an  ancient  mausoleum,  and  was  intended  for  a  tomb, 
and  that  the  central  slab  of  dark-veined  marble  was  to 
be  inscribed  with  the  names  of  buried  ones.  They 
doubted,  too,  whether  the  form  of  Lilias  Fay  could 
appertain  to  a  creature  of  this  earth,  being  so  very 
delicate,  and  growing  every  day  more  fragile,  so  that 
she  looked  as  if  the  summer  breeze  should  snatch  her 
up,  and  waft  her  heavenward.  But  still  she  watched 
the  daily  growth  of  the  Temple  ;  and  so  did  old  Walter 
Gascoigne,  who  now  made  that  spot  his  continual 
haunt,  leaning  whole  hours  together  on  his  staff,  and 
giving  as  deep  attention  to  the  work  as  though  it  had 
been  indeed  a  tomb.  In  due  time  it  was  finished,  and 
a  day  appointed  for  a  simple  rite  of  dedication. 


THE  LILY'S  QUEST.  251 

On  the  preceding  evening,  after  Adam  Forrester 
had  taken  leave  of  his  mistress,  he  looked  back 
towards  the  portal  of  her  dwelling,  and  felt  a  strange 
thrill  of  fear  ;  for  he  imagined  that,  as  the  setting  sun 
beams  faded  from  her  figure,  she  was  exhaling  away, 
and  that  something  of  her  ethereal  substance  was  with 
drawn,  with  each  lessening  gleam  of  light.  With  his 
farewell  glance,  a  shadow  had  fallen  over  the  portal, 
and  Lilias  was  invisible.  His  foreboding  spirit  deemed 
it  an  omen  at  the  time  ;  and  so  it  proved ;  for  the 
sweet  earthly  form,  by  which  the  Lily  had  been  mani 
fested  to  the  world,  was  found  lifeless,  the  next  morn 
ing  in  the  Temple,  with  her  head  resting  on  her  arms, 
which  were  folded  upon  the  slab  of  dark-veined  marble. 
The  chill  winds  of  the  earth  had  long  since  breathed  a 
blight  into  this  beautiful  flower,  so  that  a  loving  hand 
had  now  transplanted  it,  to  blossom  brightly  in  the 
garden  of  Paradise. 

But  alas,  for  the  Temple  of  Happiness  !  In  his 
unutterable  grief,  Adam  Forrester  had  no  purpose 
more  at  heart  than  to  convert  this  Temple  of  many 
delightful  hopes  into  a  tomb,  and  bury  his  dead  mis 
tress  there.  And  lo  !  a  wonder !  Digging  a  grave 
beneath  the  Temple's  marble  floor,  the  sexton  found 
no  virgin  earth,  such  as  was  meet  to  receive  the 
maiden's  dust,  but  an  ancient  sepulchre,  in  which 
were  treasured  up  the  bones  of  generations  that  had 
died  long  ago.  Among  those  forgotten  ancestors  was 
the  Lily  to  be  laid.  And  when  the  funeral  procession 
brought  Lilias  thither  in  her  coffin,  they  beheld  old 
Walter  Gascoigne  standing  beneath  the  dome  of  the 
Temple,  with  his  cloak  of  pall,  and  face  of  darkest 


252  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

gloom ;  and  wherever  that  figure  might  take  its  stand, 
the  spot  would  seem  a  sepulchre.  He  watched  the 
mourners  as  they  lowered  the  coffin  down. 

'And  so,'  said  he  to  Adam  Forrester,  with  the 
strange  smile  in  which  his  insanity  was  wont  to  gleam 
forth,  '  you  have  found  no  better  foundation  for  your 
happiness  than  on  a  grave  ! ' 

But  as  the  Shadow  of  Affliction  spoke,  a  vision  of 
Hope  and  Joy  had  its  birth  in  Adam's  mind,  even 
from  the  old  man's  taunting  words ;  for  then  he  knew 
what  was  betokened  by  the  parable  in  which  the  Lily 
and  himself  had  acted ;  and  the  mystery  of  Life  and 
Death  was  opened  to  him. 

'  Joy !  joy  ! '  he  cried,  throwing  his  arms  towards 
Heaven,  '  on  a  grave  be  the  site  of  our  Temple  ;  and 
now  our  happiness  is  for  Eternity  ! ' 

With  those  words,  a  ray  of  sunshine  broke  through 
the  dismal  sky,  and  glimmered  down  into  the  sepul 
chre  ;  while,  at  the  same  moment,  the  shape  of  old 
Walter  Gascoigne  stalked  drearily  away,  because  his 
gloom,  symbolic  of  all  earthly  sorrow,  might  no  longer 
abide  there,  now  that  the  darkest  riddle  of  humanity 
was  read. 


FOOT-PRINTS   ON  THE   SEASHORE. 

IT  must  be  a  spirit  much  unlike  my  own,  which  can 
keep  itself  in  health  and  vigor  without  sometimes 
stealing  from  the  sultry  sunshine  of  the  world,  to 
plunge  into  the  cool  bath  of  solitude.  At  intervals, 
and  not  infrequent  ones,  the  forest  and  the  ocean  sum 
mon  me  —  one  with  the  roar  of  its  waves,  the  other 
with  the  murmur  of  its  boughs  —  forth  from  the  haunts 
of  men.  But  I  must  wander  many  a  mile,  ere  I  could 
stand  beneath  the  shadow  of  even  one  primeval  tree, 
much  less  be  lost  among  the  multitude  of  hoary  trunks, 
and  hidden  from  earth  and  sky  by  the  mystery  of 
darksome  foliage.  Nothing  is  within  my  daily  reach 
more  like  a  forest  than  the  acre  or  two  of  woodland 
near  some  suburban  farm-house.  When,  therefore, 
the  yearning  for  seclusion  becomes  a  necessity  within 
me,  I  am  drawn  to  the  seashore,  which  extends  its 
line  of  rude  rocks  and  seldom  trodden  sands,  for 
leagues  around  our  bay.  Setting  forth,  at  my  last 
ramble,  on  a  September  morning,  I  bound  myself  with 
a  hermit's  vow,  to  interchange  no  thoughts  with  man 
or  woman,  to  share  no  social  pleasure,  but  to  derive  all 
that  day's  enjoyment  from  shore,  and  sea,  and  sky,  — 
from  my  soul's  communion  with  these,  and  from  fanta 
sies,  and  recollections,  or  anticipated  realities.  Surely 
here  is  enough  to  feed  a  human  spirit  for  a  single  day. 


254  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Farewell,  then,  busy  world  !  Till  your  evening  lights 
shall  shine  along  the  street  —  till  they  gleam  upon 
my  sea-flushed  face,  as  I  tread  homeward,  —  free  me 
from  your  ties,  and  let  me  be  a  peaceful  outlaw. 

Highways  and  cross-paths  are  hastily  traversed ; 
and,  clambering  down  a  crag,  I  find  myself  at  the 
extremity  of  a  long  beach.  How  gladly  does  the 
spirit  leap  forth,  and  suddenly  enlarge  its  sense  of 
being  to  the  full  extent  of  the  broad,  blue  sunny  deep ! 
A  greeting  and  a  homage  to  the  Sea  !  I  descend  over 
its  margin,  and  dip  my  hand  into  the  wave  that  meets 
me,  and  bathe  my  brow.  That  far-resounding  roar  is 
Ocean's  voice  of  welcome.  His  salt  breath  brings  a 
blessing  along  with  it.  Now  let  us  pace  together  — 
the  reader's  fancy  arm  in  arm  with  mine  —  this  noble 
beach,  which  extends  a  mile  or  more  from  that  craggy 
promontory  to  yonder  rampart  of  broken  rocks.  In 
front,  the  sea ;  in  the  rear,  a  precipitous  bank,  the 
grassy  verge  of  which  is  breaking  away,  year  after 
year,  and  flings  down  its  tufts  of  verdure  upon  the 
barrenness  below.  The  beach  itself  is  a  broad  space 
of  sand,  brown  and  sparkling,  with  hardly  any  pebbles 
intermixed.  Near  the  water's  edge  there  is  a  wet 
margin,  which  glistens  brightly  in  the  sunshine,  and 
reflects  objects  like  a  mirror ;  and  as  we  tread  along 
the  glistening  border,  a  dry  spot  flashes  around  each 
footstep,  but  grows  moist  again,  as  we  lift  our  feet.  In 
some  spots,  the  sand  receives  a  complete  impression 
of  the  sole — square  toe  and  all;  elsewhere,  it  is  of 
such  marble  firmness,  that  we  must  stamp  heavily  to 
leave  a  print  even  of  the  iron-shod  heel.  Along  the 
whole  of  this  extensive  beach  gambols  the  surf- wave  ; 


FOOT-PRINTS    ON    THE    SEASHORE. 

now  it  makes  a  feint  of  dashing  onward  in  a  fury,  yet 
dies  away  with  a  meek  murmur,  and  does  but  kiss  the 
strand  ;  now,  after  many  such  abortive  efforts,  it  rears 
itself  up  in  an  unbroken  line,  heightening  as  it  ad 
vances,  without  a  speck  of  foam  on  its  green  crest. 
With  how  fierce  a  roar  it  flings  itself  forward,  and 
rushes  far  up  the  beach  ! 

As  I  threw  my  eyes  along  the  edge  of  the  surf,  I 
remember  that  I  was  startled,  as  Robinson  Crusoe 
might  have  been,  by  the  sense  that  human  life  was 
within  the  magic  circle  of  my  solitude.  Afar  off  in 
the  remote  distance  of  the  beach,  appearing  like  sea 
nymphs,  or  some  airier  things,  such  as  might  tread 
upon  the  feathery  spray,  was  a  group  of  girls.  Hardly 
had  I  beheld  them,  when  they  passed  into  the  shadow 
of  the  rocks  and  vanished.  To  comfort  myself —  for 
truly  I  would  fain  have  gazed  a  while  longer  —  I  made 
acquaintance  with  a  flock  of  beach  birds.  These  little 
citizens  of  the  sea  and  air  preceded  me  by  about  a 
stone's  throw  along  the  strand,  seeking,  I  suppose,  for 
food  upon  its  margin.  Yet,  with  a  philosophy  which 
mankind  would  do  well  to  imitate,  they  drew  a  con 
tinual  pleasure  from  their  toil  for  a  subsistence.  The 
sea  was  each  little  bird's  great  playmate.  They 
chased  it  downward  as  it  swept  back,  and  again  ran 
up  swiftly  before  the  impending  wave,  which  some 
times  overtook  them  and  bore  them  off  their  feet. 
But  they  floated  as  lightly  as  one  of  their  own  feathers 
on  the  breaking  crest.  In  their  airy  flutterings,  they 
seemed  to  rest  on  the  evanescent  spray.  Their 
images,  —  long-legged  little  figures,  with  gray  backs 
and  snowy  bosoms,  —  were  seen  as  distinctly  as  the 


256  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

realities  in  the  mirror  of  the  glistening  strand.  As  I 
advanced,  they  flew  a  score  or  two  of  yards,  and, 
again  alighting,  recommenced  their  dalliance  with  the 
surf-wave  ;  and  thus  they  bore  me  company  along  the 
beach,  the  types  of  pleasant  fantasies,  till,  at  its  ex 
tremity,  they  took  wing  over  the  ocean,  and  were  gone. 
After  forming  a  friendship  with  these  small  surf-spirits, 
it  is  really  worth  a  sigh,  to  find  no  memorial  of  them, 
save  their  multitudinous  little  tracks  in  the  sand. 

When  we  have  paced  the  length  of  the  beach,  it  is 
pleasant,  and  not  unprofitable,  to  retrace  our  steps,  and 
recall  the  whole  mood  and  occupation  of  the  mind 
during  the  former  passage.  Our  tracks,  being  all 
discernible,  will  guide  us  with  an  observing  conscious 
ness  through  every  unconscious  wandering  of  thought 
and  fancy.  Here  we  followed  the  surf  in  its  reflux,  to 
pick  up  a  shell  which  the  sea  seemed  loth  to  relinquish. 
Here  we  found  a  seaweed,  with  an  immense  brown 
leaf,  and  trailed  it  behind  us  by  its  long  snake-like 
stalk.  Here  we  seized  a  live  horseshoe  by  the  tail, 
and  counted  the  many  claws  of  the  queer  monster. 
Here  we  dug  into  the  sand  for  pebbles,  and  skipped 
them  upon  the  surface  of  the  water.  Here  we  wet 
our  feet  while  examining  a  jelly-fish,  which  the  waves, 
having  just  tossed  it  up,  now  sought  to  snatch  away 
again.  Here  we  trod  along  the  brink  of  a  fresh 
water  brooklet,  which  flows  across  the  beach,  becom 
ing  shallower  and  more  shallow,  till  at  last  it  sinks 
into  the  sand,  and  perishes  in  the  effort  to  bear  its  little 
tribute  to  the  main.  Here  some  vagary  appears  to 
have  bewildered  us ;  for  our  tracks  go  round  and 
round,  and  are  confusedly  intermingled,  as  if  we  had 


FOOT-PRINTS    ON    THE    SEASHORE.  257 

found  a  labyrinth  upon  the  level  beach.  And  here, 
amid  our  idle  pastime,  we  sat  down  upon  almost  the 
only  stone  that  breaks  the  surface  of  the  sand,  and 
were  lost  in  an  unlocked  for  and  overpowering  con 
ception  of  the  majesty  and  awfulness  of  the  great 
deep.  Thus,  by  tracking  our  foot-prints  in  the  sand, 
we  track  our  own  nature  in  its  wayward  course,  and 
steal  a  glance  upon  it,  when  it  never  dreams  of 
being  so  observed.  Such  glances  always  make  us 
wiser. 

This  extensive  beach  affords  room  for  another 
pleasant  pastime.  With  your  staff,  you  may  write 
verses  —  love-verses,  if  they  please  you  best  —  and 
consecrate  them  with  a  woman's  name.  Here,  too, 
may  be  inscribed  thoughts,  feelings,  desires,  warm 
outgushings  from  the  heart's  secret  places,  which  you 
would  not  pour  upon  the  sand  without  the  certainty 
that,  almost  ere  the  sky  has  looked  upon  them,  the 
sea  will  wash  them  out.  Stir  not  hence,  till  the 
record  be  effaced.  Now  —  for  there  is  room  enough 
on  your  canvas  —  draw  huge  faces  —  huge  as  that  of 
the  Sphynx  on  Egyptian  sands — and  fit  them  with 
bodies  of  corresponding  immensity,  and  legs  which 
might  stride  half-way  to  yonder  island.  Child's  play 
becomes  magnificent  on  so  grand  a  scale.  But,  after 
all,  the  most  fascinating  employment  is  simply  to 
write  your  name  in  the  sand.  Draw  the  letters 
gigantic,  so  that  two  strides  may  barely  measure 
them,  and  three  for  the  long  strokes !  Cut  deep, 
that  the  record  may  be  permanent !  Statesmen  and 
warriors,  and  poets,  have  spent  their  strength  in  no 
better  cause  than  this.  Is  it  accomplished  ?  Return, 


258  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

then,  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  seek  for  this  mighty 
record  of  a  name.  The  sea  will  have  swept  over  it, 
even  as  time  rolls  its  effacing  waves  over  the  names 
of  statesmen,  and  warriors,  and  poets.  Hark,  the 
surf- wave  laughs  at  you  ! 

Passing  from  the  beach,  I  begin  to  clamber  over 
the  crags,  making  my  difficult  way  among  the  ruins 
of  a  rampart,  shattered  and  broken  by  the  assaults  of 
a  fierce  enemy.  The  rocks  rise  in  every  variety  of 
attitude  ;  some  of  them  have  their  feet  in  the  foam, 
and  are  shagged  half-way  upward  with  seaweed ; 
some  have  been  hollowed  almost  into  caverns  by  the 
unwearied  toil  of  the  sea,  which  can  afford  to  spend 
centuries  in  wearing  away  a  rock,  or  even  polishing 
a  pebble.  One  huge  rock  ascends  in  monumental 
shape,  with  a  face  like  a  giant's  tomb-stone,  on  which 
the  veins  resemble  inscriptions,  but  in  an  unknown 
tongue.  We  will  fancy  them  the  forgotten  characters 
of  an  antediluvian  race  ;  or  else  that  nature's  own 
hand  has  here  recorded  a  mystery,  which,  could  I 
read  her  language,  would  make  mankind  the  wiser 
and  the  happier.  How  many  a  thing  has  troubled 
me  with  that  same  idea !  Pass  on,  and  leave  it  unex 
plained.  Here  is  a  narrow  avenue,  which  might 
seem  to  have  been  hewn  through  the  very  heart  of  an 
enormous  crag,  affording  passage  for  the  rising  sea 
to  thunder  back  and  forth,  filling  it  with  tumultuous 
foam,  and  then  leaving  its  floor  of  black  pebbles  bare 
and  glistening.  In  this  chasm  there  was  once  an 
intersecting  vein  of  softer  stone,  which  the  waves  have 
gnawTed  away  piecemeal,  while  the  granite  walls 
remain  entire  on  either  side.  How  sharply,  and  with 


FOOT-PRINTS    ON    THE    SEASHORE.  £59 

what  harsh  clamor,  does  the  sea  rake  back  the  pebbles, 
as  it  momentarily  withdraws  into  its  own  depths  !  At 
intervals,  the  floor  of  the  chasm  is  left  nearly  dry  ; 
but  anon,  at  the  outlet,  two  or  three  great  waves  are 
seen  struggling  to  get  in  at  once  ;  two  hit  the  walls 
athwart,  while  one  rushes  straight  through,  and  all 
three  thunder,  as  if  with  rage  and  triumph.  They 
heap  the  chasm  with  a  snow-drift  of  foam  and  spray. 
While  watching  this  scene,  I  can  never  rid  myself  of 
the  idea,  that  a  monster,  endowed  with  life  and  fierce 
energy,  is  striving  to  burst  his  way  through  the  nar 
row  pass.  And  what  a  contrast,  to  look  through  the 
stormy  chasm,  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  calm  bright 
sea  beyond  ! 

Many  interesting  discoveries  may  be  made  among 
these  broken  cliffs.  Once,  for  example,  I  found  a 
dead  seal,  which  a  recent  tempest  had  tossed  into  the 
nook  of  the  rocks,  where  his  shaggy  carcass  lay 
rolled  in  a  heap  of  eel-grass,  as  if  the  sea-monster 
sought  to  hide  himself  from  my  eye.  Another  time, 
a  shark  seemed  on  the  point  of  leaping  from  the  surf 
to  swallow  me ;  nor  did  I,  wholly  without  dread, 
approach  near  enough  to  ascertain  that  the  man-eater 
had  already  met  his  own  death  from  some  fisherman 
in  the  bay.  In  the  same  ramble,  I  encountered  a 
bird  —  a  large  gray  bird  —  but  whether  a  loon,  or  a 
wild  goose,  or  the  identical  albatross  of  the  Ancient 
Mariner,  was  beyond  my  ornithology  to  decide.  It 
reposed  so  naturally  on  a  bed  of  dry  seaweed,  with 
its  head  beside  its  wing,  that  I  almost  fancied  it  alive, 
and  trod  softly  lest  it  should  suddenly  spread  its 
wings  skyward.  But  the  seabird  would  soar  among 


260  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

the  clouds  no  more,  nor  ride  upon  its  native  waves ; 
so  I  drew  near,  and  pulled  out  one  of  its  mottled  tail- 
feathers  for  a  remembrance.  Another  day,  I  dis 
covered  an  immense  bone,  wedged  into  a  chasm  of 
the  rocks  ;  it  was  at  least  ten  feet  long,  curved  like  a 
scimetar,  bejewelled  with  barnacles  and  small  shell 
fish,  and  partly  covered  with  a  growth  of  seaweed. 
Some  leviathan  of  former  ages  had  used  this  pon 
derous  mass  as  a  jawbone.  Curiosities  of  a  minuter 
order  may  be  observed  in  a  deep  reservoir,  which  is 
replenished  with  water  at  every  tide,  but  becomes  a 
lake  among  the  crags,  save  when  the  sea  is  at  its 
height.  At  the  bottom  of  this  rocky  basin  grow  ma 
rine  plants,  some  of  which  tower  high  beneath  the 
water,  and  cast  a  shadow  in  the  sunshine.  Small 
fishes  dart  to  and  fro,  and  hide  themselves  among  the 
seaweed ;  there  is  also  a  solitary  crab,  who  appears 
to  lead  the  life  of  a  hermit,  communing  with  none  of 
the  other  denizens  of  the  place  ;  and  likewise  several 
five-fingers  —  for  I  know  no  other  name  than  that 
which  children  give  them.  If  your  imagination  be  at 
all  accustomed  to  such  freaks,  you  may  look  down 
into  the  depths  of  this  pool,  and  fancy  it  the  mysterious 
depth  of  ocean.  But  where  are  the  hulks  and  scattered 
timbers  of  sunken  ships  ?  —  where  the  treasures  that 
old  Ocean  hoards  ?  —  where  the  corroded  cannon  ?  — 
where  the  corpses  and  skeletons  of  seamen,  who  went 
down  in  storm  and  battle  ? 

On  the  day  of  my  last  ramble,  (it  was  a  Septem 
ber  day,  yet  as  warm  as  summer,)  what  should  I 
behold  as  I  approached  the  above  described  basin 
but  three  girls  sitting  on  its  margin,  and  —  yes,  it  is 


FOOT-PRINTS    ON    THE    SEASHORE.  261 

veritably  so  —  laving  their  snowy  feet  in  the  sunny 
water !  These,  these  are  the  warm  realities  of  those 
three  visionary  shapes  that  flitted  from  me  on  the 
beach.  Hark !  their  merry  voices,  as  they  toss  up 
the  water  with  their  feet !  They  have  not  seen  me. 
I  must  shrink  behind  this  rock,  and  steal  away  again. 

In  honest  truth,  vowed  to  solitude  as  I  am,  there  is 
something  in  this  encounter  that  makes  the  heart 
flutter  with  a  strangely  pleasant  sensation.  I  know 
these  girls  to  be  realities  of  flesh  and  blood,  yet, 
glancing  at  them  so  briefly,  they  mingle  like  kindred 
creatures  with  the  ideal  beings  of  my  mind.  It  is 
pleasant,  likewise,  to  gaze  down  from  some  high 
crag,  and  watch  a  group  of  children,  gathering  peb 
bles  and  pearly  shells,  and  playing  with  the  surf,  as 
with  old  Ocean's  hoary  beard.  Nor  does  it  infringe 
upon  my  seclusion,  to  see  yonder  boat  at  anchor  off 
the  shore,  swinging  dreamily  to  and  fro,  and  rising 
and  sinking  with  the  alternate  swell ;  while  the  crew 
—  four  gentlemen,  in  round-about  jackets  —  are  busy 
with  their  fishing-lines.  But,  with  an  inward  antipathy 
and  a  headlong  flight,  do  I  eschew  the  presence  of 
any  meditative  stroller  like  myself,  known  by  his 
pilgrim  staff,  his  sauntering  step,  his  shy  demeanor, 
his  observant  yet  abstracted  eye.  From  such  a  man, 
as  if  another  self  had  scared  me,  I  scramble  hastily 
over  the  rocks,  and  take  refuge  in  a  nook  which  many 
a  secret  hour  has  given  me  a  right  to  call  my  own. 
I  would  do  battle  for  it  even  with  the  churl  that  should 
produce  the  title-deeds.  Have  not  my  musings  melted 
into  its  rocky  walls  and  sandy  floor,  and  made  them  a 
portion  of  myself? 

VOL.  II.  17 


262  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

It  is  a  recess  in  the  line  of  cliffs,  walled  round  by 
a  rough,  high  precipice,  which  almost  encircles  and 
shuts  in  a  little  space  of  sand.  In  front,  the  sea 
appears  as  between  the  pillars  of  a  portal.  In  the 
rear,  the  precipice  is  broken  and  intermixed  with 
earth,  which  gives  nourishment  not  only  to  clinging 
and  twining  shrubs,  but  to  trees,  that  gripe  the  rock 
with  their  naked  roots,  and  seem  to  struggle  hard  for 
footing  and  for  soil  enough  to  live  upon.  These  are 
fir-trees ;  but  oaks  hang  their  heavy  branches  from 
above,  and  throw  down  acorns  on  the  beach,  and 
shed  their  withering  foliage  upon  the  waves.  At  this 
autumnal  season,  the  precipice  is  decked  with  varie 
gated  splendor ;  trailing  wreaths  of  scarlet  flaunt 
from  the  summit  downward;  tufts  of  yellow-flower 
ing  shrubs,  and  rose-bushes,  with  their  reddened 
leaves  and  glossy  seed-berries,  sprout  from  each 
crevice ;  at  every  glance,  I  detect  some  new  light  or 
shade  of  beauty,  all  contrasting  with  the  stern,  gray 
rock.  A  rill  of  water  trickles  down  the  cliff  and  fills 
a  little  cistern  near  the  base.  I  drain  it  at  a  draught, 
and  find  it  fresh  and  pure.  This  recess  shall  be  my 
dining-hall.  And  what  the  feast?  A  few  biscuits, 
made  savory  by  soaking  them  in  sea-water,  a  tuft  of 
samphire  gathered  from  the  beach,  and  an  apple  for 
the  dessert.  By  this  time,  the  little  rill  has  filled  its 
reservoir  again ;  and,  as  I  quaff  it,  I  thank  God  more 
heartily  than  for  a  civic  banquet,  that  He  gives  me  the 
healthful  appetite  to  make  a  feast  of  bread  and  water. 

Dinner  being  over,  I  throw  myself  at  length  upon 
the  sand,  and,  basking  in  the  sunshine,  let  my  mind 
disport  itself  at  will.  The  walls  of  this  my  hermitage 


FOOT-PRINTS    ON    THE    SEASHORE.  263 

have  no  tongue  to  tell  my  follies,  though  I  sometimes 
fancy  that  they  have  ears  to  hear  them,  and  a-  soul 
to  sympathize.  There  is  a  magic  in  this  spot. 
Dreams  haunt  its  precincts,  and  flit  around  me  in 
broad  sunlight,  nor  require  that  sleep  shall  blindfold 
me  to  real  objects,  ere  these  be  visible.  Here  can  I 
frame  a  story  of  two  lovers,  and  make  their  shadows 
live  before  me,  and  be  mirrored  in  the  tranquil  water, 
as  they  tread  along  the  sand,  leaving  no  foot-prints. 
Here,  should  I  will  it,  I  can  summon  up  a  single 
shade,  and  be  myself  her  lover.  Yes,  dreamer,  — 
but  your  lonely  heart  will  be  the  colder  for  such 
fancies.  Sometimes,  too,  the  Past  comes  back,  and 
finds  me  here,  and  in  her  train  come  faces  which 
were  gladsome,  when  I  knew  them,  yet  seem  not 
gladsome  now.  Would  that  my  hiding-place  were 
lonelier,  so  that  the  past  might  not  find  me  !  Get  ye 
all  gone,  old  friends,  and  let  me  listen  to  the  murmur 
of  the  sea,  —  a  melancholy  voice,  but  less  sad  than 
yours.  Of  what  mysteries  is  it  telling  ?  Of  sunken 
ships,  and  whereabouts  they  lie  ?  Of  islands  afar 
and  undiscovered,  whose  tawny  children  are  uncon 
scious  of  other  islands  and  of  continents,  and  deem 
the  stars  of  heaven  their  nearest  neighbors  ?  Nothing 
of  all  this.  What  then  ?  Has  it  talked  for  so  many 
ages,  and  meant  nothing  all  the  while  ?  No ;  for 
those  ages  find  utterance  in  the  sea's  unchanging 
voice,  and  warn  the  listener  to  withdraw  his  interest 
from  mortal  vicissitudes,  and  let  the  infinite  idea  of 
eternity  pervade  his  soul.  This  is  wisdom  ;  and, 
therefore,  will  I  spend  the  next  half  hour  in  shaping 
little  boats  of  drift-wood,  and  launching  them  on  voy- 


264  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

ages  across  the  cove,  with  the  feather  of  a  seagull  for 
a  sail.  If  the  voice  of  ages  tell  me  true,  this  is  as  wise 
an  occupation  as  to  build  ships  of  five  hundred  tons, 
and  launch  them  forth  upon  the  main,  bound  to  '  far 
Cathay.'  Yet,  how  would  the  merchant  sneer  at  me ! 

And,  after  all,  can  such  philosophy  be  true  ?  Me- 
thinks  I  could  find  a  thousand  arguments  against  it. 
Well,  then,  let  yonder  shaggy  rock,  mid-deep  in  the 
surf — see!  he  is  somewhat  wrathful,  —  he  rages  and 
roars  and  foams  —  let  that  tall  rock  be  my  antagonist, 
and  let  me  exercise  my  oratory  like  him  of  Athens, 
who  bandied  words  with  an  angry  sea  and  got  the 
victory.  My  maiden  speech  is  a  triumphant  one  ; 
for  the  gentleman  in  seaweed  has  nothing  to  offer  in 
reply,  save  an  immitigable  roaring.  His  voice,  indeed, 
will  be  heard  a  long  while  after  mine  is  hushed. 
Once  more  I  shout,  and  the  cliffs  reverberate  the 
sound.  Oh,  what  joy  for  a  shy  man  to  feel  himself 
so  solitary,  that  he  may  lift  his  voice  to  its  highest 
pitch  without  hazard  of  a  listener !  But,  hush !  — 
be  silent,  my  good  friend !  —  whence  comes  that 
stifled  laughter  ?  It  was  musical,  —  but  how  should 
there  be  such  music  in  my  solitude  ?  Looking 
upwards,  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  three  faces,  peeping 
from  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  like  angels  between  me 
and  their  native  sky.  Ah,  fair  girls,  you  may  make 
yourselves  merry  at  my  eloquence,  —  but  it  was  my 
turn  to  smile  when  I  saw  your  white  feet  in  the  pool ! 
Let  us  keep  each  other's  secrets. 

The  sunshine  has  now  passed  from  my  hermitage, 
except  a  gleam  upon  the  sand  just  where  it  meets  the 
sea.  A  crowd  of  gloomy  fantasies  will  come  and 


FOOT-PRINTS    ON    THE    SEASHORE.  265 

haunt  me,  if  I  tariy  longer  here,  in  the  darkening 
twilight  of  these  gray  rocks.  This  is  a  dismal  place 
in  some  moods  of  the  mind.  Climb  we,  therefore, 
the  precipice,  and  pause  a  moment  on  the  brink, 
gazing  down  into  that  hollow  chamber  by  the  deep, 
where  we  have  been,  what  few  can  be,  sufficient  to 
our  own  pastime  —  yes,  say  the  word  outright !  — 
self-sufficient  to  our  own  happiness.  How  lonesome 
looks  the  recess  now,  and  dreary  too,  —  like  all  other 
spots  where  happiness  has  been !  There  lies  my 
shadow  in  the  departing  sunshine  with  its  head  upon 
the  sea.  I  will  pelt  it  with  pebbles.  A  hit !  a  hit !  I 
clap  my  hands  in  triumph,  and  see  !  my  shadow  clap 
ping  its  unreal  hands,  and  claiming  the  triumph  for  itself. 
What  a  simpleton  must  I  have  been  all  day,  since  my 
own  shadow  makes  a  mock  of  my  fooleries ! 

Homeward  !  homeward  !  It  is  time  to  hasten  home. 
It  is  time  ;  it  is  time  ;  for  as  the  sun  sinks  over  the 
western  wave,  the  sea  grows  melancholy,  and  the  surf 
has  a  saddened  tone.  The  distant  sails  "appear  astray, 
and  not  of  earth,  in  their  remoteness  amid  the  desolate 
waste.  My  spirit  wanders  forth  afar,  but  finds  no 
resting-place,  and  comes  shivering  back.  It  is  time 
that  I  were  hence.  But  grudge  me  not  the  day  that 
has  been  spent  in  seclusion,  which  yet  was  not  solitude, 
since  the  great  sea  has  been  my  companion,  and  the 
little  sea-birds  my  friends,  and  the  wind  has  told  me 
his  secrets,  and  airy  shapes  have  flitted  around  me 
in  my  hermitage.  Such  companionship  works  an 
effect  upon  a  man's  character,  as  if  he  had  been 
admitted  to  the  society  of  creatures  that  are  not 
mortal.  And  when,  at  noontide,  I  tread  the  crowded 
streets,  the  influence  of  this  day  will  still  be  felt ;  so 


266  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

that  1  shall  walk  among  men  kindly  and  as  a  brother, 
with  affection  and  sympathy,  but  yet  shall  not  melt 
into  the  indistinguishable  mass  of  human  kind.  I  shall 
think  my  own  thoughts,  and  feel  my  own  emotions, 
and  possess  my  individuality  unviolated. 

But  it  is  good,  at  the  eve  of  such  a  day,  to  feel  and 
know  that  there  are  men  and  women  in  the  world. 
That  feeling  and  that  knowledge  are  mine,  at  this 
moment ;  for,  on  the  shore,  far  below  me,  the  fishing 
party  have  landed  from  their  skiff,  and  are  cooking 
their  scaly  prey  by  a  fire  of  drift-wood,  kindled  in 
the  angle  of  two  rude  rocks.  The  three  visionary 
girls  are  likewise  there.  In  the  deepening  twilight, 
while  the  surf  is  dashing  near  their  hearth,  the  ruddy 
gleam  of  the  fire  throws  a  strange  air  of  comfort 
over  the  wild  cove,  bestrewn  as  it  is  with  pebbles  and 
seaweed,  and  exposed  to  the  '  melancholy  main.' 
Moreover,  as  the  smoke  climbs  up  the  precipice,  it 
brings  with  it  a  savory  smell  from  a  pan  of  fried  fish, 
and  a  black  kettle  of  chowder,  and  reminds  me  that 
my  dinner  was  nothing  but  bread  and  water,  and  a 
tuft  of  samphire,  and  an  apple.  Methinks  the  party 
might  find  room  for  another  guest,  at  that  fiat  rock 
which  serves  them  for  a  table  ;  and  if  spoons  be 
scarce,  I  could  pick  up  a  clamshell  on  the  beach. 
They  see  me  now ;  and  —  the  blessing  of  a  hungry 
man  upon  him  !  —  one  of  them  sends  up  a  hospitable 
shout  —  halloo,  Sir  Solitary  !  come  down  and  sup 
with  us  !  The  ladies  wave  their  handkerchiefs.  Can 
I  decline  ?  No  ;  and  be  it  owned,  after  all  my  soli 
tary  joys,  that  this  is  the  sweetest  moment  of  a  Day 
by  the  Seashore. 


EDWARD  FANE'S   ROSEBUD. 

THERE  is  hardly  a  more  difficult  exercise  of  fancy, 
than,  while  gazing  at  a  figure  of  melancholy  age,  to 
recreate  its  youth,  and,  without  entirely  obliterating 
the  identity  of  form  and  features,  to  restore  those 
graces  which  time  has  snatched  away.  Some  old 
people,  especially  women,  so  age-worn  and  woful  are 
they,  seem  never  to  have  been  young  and  gay.  It  is 
easier  to  conceive  that  such  gloomy  phantoms  were 
sent  into  the  world  as  withered  and  decrepit  as  we 
behold  them  now,  with  sympathies  only  for  pain  and 
grief,  to  watch  at  death-beds,  and  weep  at  funerals. 
Even  the  sable  garments  of  their  widowhood  appear 
essential  to  their  existence  ;  all  their  attributes  com 
bine  to  render  them  darksome  shadows,  creeping 
strangely  amid  the  sunshine  of  human  life.  Yet  it  is 
no  unprofitable  task,  to  take  one  of  these  doleful  crea 
tures,  and  set  fancy  resolutely  at  work  to  brighten  the 
dim  eye,  and  darken  the  silvery  locks,  and  paint  the 
ashen  cheek  with  rose  color,  and  repair  the  shrunken 
and  crazy  form,  till  a  dewy  maiden  shall  be  seen  in 
the  o'd  matron's  elbow  chair.  The  miracle  being 
wrought,  then  let  the  years  roll  back  again,  each  sad 
der  than  the  last,  and  the  whole  weight  of  age  and 
sorrow  settle  down  upon  the  youthful  figure.  Wrinkles 
and  furrows,  the  handwriting  of  Time,  may  thus 


268  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

be  deciphered,  and  found  to  contain  deep  lessons  of 
thought  and  feeling.  Such  profit  might  be  derived, 
by  a  skilful  observer,  from  my  much  respected  friend, 
the  Widow  Toothaker,  a  nurse  of  great  repute,  who 
has  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  sick  chambers  and 
dying  breaths,  these  forty  years. 

See  !  she  sits  cowering  over  her  lonesome  hearth, 
with  her  gown  and  upper  petticoat  drawn  upward, 
gathering  thriftly  into  her  person  the  whole  warmth 
of  the  fire,  which,  now  at  nightfall,  begins  to  dissi 
pate  the  autumnal  chill  of  her  chamber.  The  blaze 
quivers  capriciously  in  front,  alternately  glimmering 
into  the  deepest  chasms  of  her  wrinkled  visage,  and 
then  permitting  a  ghostly  dimness  to  mar  the  outlines 
of  her  venerable  figure.  And  Nurse  Toothaker  holds 
a  tea-spoon  in  her  right  hand,  with  which  to  stir  up 
the  contents  of  a  tumbler  in  her  left,  whence  steams 
a  vapory  fragrance,  abhorred  of  temperance  societies. 
Now  she  sips  —  now  stirs  —  now  sips  again.  Her  sad 
old  heart  has  need  to  be  revived  by  the  rich  infusion  of 
Geneva,  which  is  mixed  half-and-half  with  hot  water, 
in  the  tumbler.  All  day  long  she  has  been  sitting 
by  a  death-pillow,  and  quitted  it  for  her  home,  only 
when  the  spirit  of  her  patient  left  the  clay,  and  went 
homeward  too.  But  now  are  her  melancholy  medita 
tions  cheered,  and  her  torpid  blood  warmed,  and  her 
shoulders  lightened  of  at  least  twenty  ponderous  years, 
by  a  draught  from  the  true  Fountain  of  Youth,  in  a 
case-bottle.  It  is  strange  that  men  should  deem  that 
fount  a  fable,  when  its  liquor  fills  more  bottles  than 
the  congress  water !  Sip  it  again,  good  nurse,  and  see 
whether  a  second  draught  will  not  take  off  another 


EDWARD  FANE'S  ROSEBUD.  269 

score  of  years,  and  perhaps  ten  more,  and  show  us, 
in  your  high-backed  chair,  the  blooming  damsel  who 
plighted  troths  with  Edward  Fane.  Get  you  gone, 
Age  and  Widowhood  !  Come  back,  unwedded  Youth  ! 
But,  alas  !  the  charm  will  not  work.  In  spite  of  fancy's 
most  potent  spell,  I  can  see  only  an  old  dame  cower 
ing  over  the  fire,  a  picture  of  decay  and  desolation, 
while  the  November  blast  roars  at  her  in  the  chimney, 
and  fitful  showers  rush  suddenly  against  the  window. 

Yet  there  was  a  time  when  Rose  Grafton  —  such 
was  the  pretty  maiden  name  of  Nurse  Toothaker  — 
possessed  beauty  that  would  have  gladdened  this  dim 
and  dismal  chamber,  as  with  sunshine.  It  won  for  her 
the  heart  of  Edward  Fane,  who  has  since  made  so 
great  a  figure  in  the  world,  and  is  now  a  grand  old 
gentleman,  with  powdered  hair,  and  as  gouty  as  a  lord. 
These  early  lovers  thought  to  have  walked  hand  in 
hand  through  life.  They  had  wept  together  for  Ed 
ward's  little  sister  Mary,  whom  Rose  tended  in  her 
sickness,  partly  because  she  was  the  sweetest  child 
that  ever  lived  or  died,  but  more  for  love  of  him.  She 
was  but  three  years  old.  Being  such  an  infant,  Death 
could  not  embody  his  terrors  in  her  little  corpse  ;  nor 
did  Rose  fear  to  touch  the  dead  child's  brow,  though 
chill,  as  she  curled  the  silken  hair  around  it,  nor  to  take 
her  tiny  hand,  and  clasp  a  flower  within  its  fingers. 
Afterward,  when  she  looked  through  the  pane  of  glass 
in  the  coffin-lid,  and  beheld  Mary's  face,  it  seemed  not 
so  much  like  death,  or  life,  as  like  a  waxwork,  wrought 
into  the  perfect  image  of  a  child  asleep,  and  dreaming 
of  its  mother's  smile.  Rose  thought  her  too  fair  a 
thing  to  be  hidden  in  the  grave,  and  wondered  that 


270  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

an  angel  did  not  snatch  up  little  Mary's  coffin,  and 
bear  the  slumbering  babe  to  heaven,  and  bid  her  wake 
immortal.  But  when  the  sods  were  laid  on  little  Mary, 
the  heart  of  Rose  was  troubled.  She  shuddered  at  the 
fantasy,  that,  in  grasping  the  child's  cold  fingers,  her 
virgin  hand  had  exchanged  a  first  greeting  with  mor 
tality,  and  could  never  lose  the  earthly  taint.  How 
many  a  greeting  since !  But  as  yet,  she  was  a  fair 
young  girl,  with  the  dewdrops  of  fresh  feeling  in  her 
bosom ;  and  instead  of  Rose,  which  seemed  too  mature 
a  name  for  her  half-opened  beauty,  her  lover  called 
her  Rosebud. 

The  rosebud  was  destined  never  to  bloom  for  Ed 
ward  Fane.  His  mother  was  a  rich  and  haughty  dame, 
with  all  the  aristocratic  prejudices  of  colonial  times. 
She  scorned  Rose  Grafton's  humble  parentage,  and 
caused  her  son  to  break  his  faith,  though,  had  she  let 
him  choose,  he  would  have  prized  his  Rosebud  above 
the  richest  diamond.  The  lovers  parted,  and  have 
seldom  met  again.  Both  may  have  visited  the  same 
mansions,  but  not  at  the  same  time  ;  for  one  was  bid 
den  to  the  festal  hall,  and  the  other  to  the  sick  cham 
ber  ;  he  was  the  guest  of  Pleasure  and  Prosperity,  and 
she  of  Anguish.  Rose,  after  their  separation,  was  long 
secluded  within  the  dwelling  of  Mr.  Toothaker,  whom 
she  married  with  the  revengeful  hope  of  breaking  her 
false  lover's  heart.  She  went  to  her  bridegroom's  arms 
with  bitterer  tears,  they  say,  than  young  girls  ought  to 
shed,  at  the  threshold  of  the  bridal  chamber.  Yet, 
though  her  husband's  head  was  getting  gray,  and  his 
heart  had  been  chilled  with  an  autumnal  frost,  Rose 
soon  began  to  love  him,  and  wondered  at  her  own 


271 


conjugal  affection.     He  was  all  she  had  to  love  ;   there 
were  no  children. 

In  a  year  or  two,  poor  Mr.  Toothaker  was  visited 
with  a  wearisome  infirmity,  which  settled  in  his  joints, 
and  made  him  weaker  than  a  child.  He  crept  forth 
about  his  business,  and  came  home  at  dinner-time  and 
eventide,  not  with  the  manly  tread  that  gladdens  a 
wife's  heart,  but  slowly,  feebly,  jotting  down  each 
dull  footstep  with  a  melancholy  dub  of  his  staff.  We 
must  pardon  his  pretty  wife,  if  she  sometimes  blushed 
to  own  him.  Her  visitors,  when  they  heard  him  com 
ing,  looked  for  the  appearance  of  some  old,  old  man ; 
but  he  dragged  his  nerveless  limbs  into  the  parlor  — 
and  there  was  Mr.  Toothaker !  The  disease  increas 
ing,  he  never  went  into  the  sunshine,  save  with  a  staff 
in  his  right  hand,  and  his  left  on  his  wife's  shoulder, 
bearing  heavily  downward,  like  a  dead  man's  hand. 
Thus,  a  slender  woman,  still  looking  maiden-like,  she 
supported  his  tall,  broad  chested  frame  along  the  path 
way  of  their  little  garden,  and  plucked  the  roses  for 
her  gray-haired  husband,  and  spoke  soothingly,  as  to 
an  infant.  His  mind  was  palsied  with  his  body ;  its 
utmost  energy  was  peevishness.  In  a  few  months 
more,  she  helped  him  up  the  staircase,  with  a  pause  at 
every  step,  and  a  longer  one  upon  the  landing-place, 
and  a  heavy  glance  behind,  as  he  crossed  the  threshold 
of  his  chamber.  He  knew,  poor  man,  that  the  pre 
cincts  of  those  four  walls  would  thenceforth  be  his 
world  —  his  world,  his  home,  his  tomb  —  at  once  a 
dwelling  and  a  burial-place,  till  he  were  borne  to  a 
darker  and  a  narrower  one.  But  Rose  was  with  him 
in  the  tomb.  He  leaned  upon  her,  in  his  daily  passage 


272  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

from  the  bed  to  the  chair  by  the  fireside,  and  back 
again  from  the  weary  chair  to  the  joyless  bed  —  his 
bed  and  hers  —  their  marriage-bed  ;  till  even  this  short 
journey  ceased,  and  his  head  lay  all  day  upon  the 
pillow,  and  hers  all  night  beside  it.  How  long  poor 
Mr.  Toothaker  was  kept  in  misery !  Death  seemed  to 
draw  near  the  door,  and  often  to  lift  the  latch,  and 
sometimes  to  thrust  his  ugly  skull  into  the  chamber, 
nodding  to  Rose,  and  pointing  at  her  husband,  but  still 
delayed  to  enter.  '  This  bedridden  wretch  cannot 
escape  me  ! '  quoth  Death.  '  I  will  go  forth,  and  run  a 
race  with  the  swift,  and  fight  a  battle  with  the  strong, 
and  come  back  for  Toothaker  at  my  leisure  !  '  Oh, 
when  the  deliverer  came  so  near,  in  the  dull  anguish 
of  her  worn-out  sympathies,  did  she  never  long  to  cry, 
'  Death,  come  in  !' 

But,  no  !  We  have  no  right  to  ascribe  such  a  wish 
to  our  friend  Rose.  She  never  failed  in  a  wife's  duty 
to  her  poor  sick  husband.  She  murmured  not,  though 
a  glimpse  of  the  sunny  sky  was  as  strange  to  her  as 
him,  nor  answered  peevishly,  though  his  complaining 
accents  roused  her  from  her  sweetest  dream,  only  to 
share  his  wretchedness.  He  knew  her  faith,  yet  nour 
ished  a  cankered  jealousy  ;  and  when  the  slow  disease 
had  chilled  all  his  heart,  save  one  lukewarm  spot, 
which  Death's  frozen  fingers  were  searching  for,  his 
last  words  were  :  '  What  would  my  Rose  have  done 
for  her  first  love,  if  she  has  been  so  true  and  kind  to 
a  sick  old  man  like  me  ! '  And  then  his  poor  soul 
crept  away,  and  left  the  body  lifeless,  though  hardly 
more  so  than  for  years  before,  and  Rose  a  widow, 
though  in  truth  it  was  the  wedding  night  that  widowed 


EDWARD  FANE'S  ROSEBUD.  273 

her.  She  felt  glad,  it  must  be  owned,  when  Mr.  Tooth- 
aker  was  buried,  because  his  corpse  had  retained  such 
a  likeness  to  the  man  half  alive,  that  she  hearkened 
for  the  sad  murmur  of  his  voice,  bidding  her  shift  his 
pillow.  But  all  through  the  next  winter,  though  the 
grave  had  held  him  many  a  month,  she  fancied  him 
calling  from  that  cold  bed,  '  Rose  !  Rose  !  come  put  a 
blanket  on  my  feet ! ' 

So  now  the  Rosebud  was  the  Widow  Toothaker. 
Her  troubles  had  come  early,  and,  tedious  as  they 
seemed,  had  passed  before  all  her  bloom  was  fled. 
She  was  still  fair  enough  to  captivate  a  bachelor,  or, 
with  a  widow's  cheerful  gravity,  she  might  have  won 
a  widower,  stealing  into  his  heart  in  the  very  guise  of 
his  dead  wife.  But  the  Widow  Toothaker  had  no  such 
projects.  By  her  watchings  and  continual  cares,  her 
heart  had  become  knit  to  her  first  husband  with  a  con 
stancy  which  changed  its  very  nature,  and  made  her 
love  him  for  his  infirmities,  and  infirmity  for  his  sake. 
When  the  palsied  old  man  was  gone,  even  her  early 
lover  could  not  have  supplied  his  place.  She  had 
dwelt  in  a  sick  chamber,  and  been  the  companion  of 
a  half-dead  wretch,  till  she  should  scarcely  breathe  in 
a  free  air,  and  felt  ill  at  ease  with  the  healthy  and  the 
happy.  She  missed  the  fragrance  of  the  doctor's  stuff. 
She  walked  the  chamber  with  a  noiseless  footfall.  If 
visitors  came  in,  she  spoke  in  soft  and  soothing  ac 
cents,  and  was  startled  and  shocked  by  their  loud 
voices.  Often,  in  the  lonesome  evening,  she  looked 
timorously  from  the  fireside  to  the  bed,  with  almost  a 
hope  of  recognising  a  ghastly  face  upon  the  pillow. 
Then  went  her  thought  j  sadly  to  her  husband's  grave. 


274 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


If  one  impatient  throb  had  wronged  him  in  his  lifetime 
—  if  she  had  secretly  repined,  because  her  buoyant 
youth  was  imprisoned  with  his  torpid  age  —  if  ever, 
while  slumbering  beside  him,  a  treacherous  dream  had 
admitted  another  into  her  heart  —  yet  the  sick  man 
had  been  preparing  a  revenge,  which  the  dead  now 
claimed.  On  his  painful  pillow,  he  had  cast  a  spell 
around  her  ;  his  groans  and  misery  had  proved  more 
captivating  charms  than  gayety  and  youthful  grace  ; 
in  his  semblance,  Disease  itself  had  won  the  Rosebud 
for  a  bride  ;  nor  could  his  death  dissolve  the  nuptials. 
By  that  indissoluble  bond  she  had  gained  a  home  in 
every  sick  chamber,  and  nowhere  else  ;  there  were 
her  brethren  and  sisters ;  thither  her  husband  sum 
moned  her,  with  that  voice  which  had  seemed  to  issue 
from  the  grave  of  Toothaker.  At  length  she  recog 
nised  her  destiny. 

We  have  beheld  her  as  the  maid,  the  wife,  the 
widow ;  now  we  see  her  in  a  separate  and  insulated 
character  :  she  was,  in  all  her  attributes,  Nurse  Tooth 
aker.  And  Nurse  Toothaker  alone,  with  her  own 
shrivelled  lips,  could  make  known  her  experience  in 
that  capacity.  What  a  history  might  she  record  of 
the  great  sicknesses,  in  which  she  has  gone  hand  in 
hand  with  the  exterminating  angel !  She  remembers 
when  the  small-pox  hoisted  a  red  banner  on  almost 
every  house  along  the  street.  She  has  witnessed  when 
the  typhus  fever  swept  off  a  whole  household,  young 
and  old,  all  but  a  lonely  mother,  who  vainly  shrieked 
to  follow  her  last  loved  one.  Where  would  be  Death's 
triumph,  if  none  lived  to  weep !  She  can  speak  of 
strange  maladies  that  have  broken  out,  as  if  sponta- 


275 

neously,  but  were  found  to  have  been  imported  from 
foreign  lands,  with  rich  silks  and  other  merchandise, 
the  costliest  portion  of  the  cargo.  And  once,  she 
recollects,  the  people  died  of  what  was  considered  a 
new  pestilence,  till  the  doctors  traced  it  to  the  ancient 
grave  of  a  young  girl,  who  thus  caused  many  deaths  a 
hundred  years  after  her  own  burial.  Strange  that  such 
black  mischief  should  lurk  in  a  maiden's  grave  !  She 
loves  to  tell  how  strong  men  fight  with  fiery  fevers, 
utterly  refusing  to  give  up  their  breath  ;  and  how  con 
sumptive  virgins  fade  out  of  the  world,  scarcely  re 
luctant,  as  if  their  lovers  were  wooing  them  to  a  far 
country.  Tell  us,  thou  fearful  woman !  tell  us  the 
death  secrets !  Fain  would  I  search  out  the  meaning 
of  words,  faintly  gasped  with  intermingled  sobs,  and 
broken  sentences,  half  audibly  spoken  between  earth 
and  the  judgment-seat ! 

An  awful  woman  !  She  is  the  patron  saint  of  young 
physicians,  and  the  bosom  friend  of  old  ones.  In 
the  mansions  where  she  enters,  the  inmates  provide 
themselves  black  garments ;  the  coffin  maker  follows 
her  ;  and  the  bell  tolls  as  she  comes  away  from  the 
threshold.  Death  himself  has  met  her  at  so  many  a 
bedside,  that  he  puts  forth  his  bony  hand  to  greet 
Nurse  Toothaker.  She  is  an  awful  woman  !  And, 
oh !  is  it  conceivable,  that  this  handmaid  of  human 
infirmity  and  affliction — so  darkly  stained,  so  thor 
oughly  imbued  with  all  that  is  saddest  in  the  doom  of 
mortals  —  can  ever  again  be  bright  and  gladsome, 
even  though  bathed  in  the  sunshine  of  eternity  ?  By 
her  long  communion  with  woe,  has  she  not  forfeited 
her  inheritance  of  immortal  joy  ?  Does  any  germ  of 
bliss  survive  within  her  ? 


276  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Hark !  an  eager  knocking  at  Nurse  Toothaker's 
door.  She  starts  from  her  drowsy  reverie,  sets  aside 
the  empty  tumbler  and  tea-spoon,  and  lights  a  lamp 
at  the  dim  embers  of  the  fire.  Rap,  rap,  rap  !  again ; 
and  she  hurries  adown  the  staircase,  wondering  which 
of  her  friends  can  be  at  death's  door  now,  since  there 
is  such  an  earnest  messenger  at  Nurse  Toothaker's. 
Again  the  peal  resounds,  just  as  her  hand  is  on  the 
lock.  '  Be  quick,  Nurse  Toothaker  ! '  cries  a  man  on 
the  doorstep  ;  c  old  General  Fane  is  taken  with  the 
gout  in  his  stomach,  and  has  sent  for  you  to  watch  by 
his  death-bed.  Make  haste,  for  there  is  no  time  to 
lose  ! '  '  Fane  !  Edward  Fane  !  And  has  he  sent  for 
me  at  last  ?  I  am  ready  !  I  will  get  on  my  cloak  and 
begone.  So,'  adds  the  sable-gowned,  ashen-visaged, 
funereal  old  figure,  '  Edward  Fane  remembers  his 
Rosebud ! ' 

Our  question  is  answered.  There  is  a  germ  of 
bliss  within  her.  Her  long-hoarded  constancy  —  her 
memory  of  the  bliss  that  was  —  remaining  amid  the 
gloom  of  her  after-life,  like  a  sweet-smelling  flower  in 
a  coffin,  is  a  symbol  that  all  may  be  renewed.  In 
some  happier  clime,  the  Rosebud  may  revive  again 
with  all  the  dewdrops  in  its  bosom. 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY. 

A  FAERY  LEGEND. 

I  HAVE  sometimes  produced  a  singular  and  not  un- 
pleasing  effect,  so  far  as  my  own  mind  was  concerned, 
by  imagining  a  train  of  incidents,  in  which  the  spirit 
and  mechanism  of  the  faery  legend  should  be  com 
bined  with  the  characters  and  manners  of  familiar 
life.  In  the  little  tale  which  follows,  a  subdued  tinge 
of  the  wild  and  wonderful  is  thrown  over  a  sketch 
of  New  England  personages  and  scenery,  yet,  it  is 
hoped,  without  entirely  obliterating  the  sober  hues  of 
nature.  Rather  than  a  story  of  events  claiming  to  be 
real,  it  may  be  considered  as  an  allegory,  such  as  the 
writers  of  the  last  century  would  have  expressed  in 
the  shape  of  an  eastern  tale,  but  to  which  I  have 
endeavored  to  give  a  more  lifelike  warmth  than  could 
be  infused  into  those  fanciful  productions. 

In  the  twilight  of  a  summer  eve,  a  tall,  dark  figure, 
over  which  long  and  remote  travel  had  thrown  an 
outlandish  aspect,  was  entering  a  village,  not  in  4  Faery 
Londe,'  but  within  our  own  familiar  boundaries.  The 
staff,  on  which  this  traveller  leaned,  had  been  his 
companion  from  the  spot  where  it  grew,  in  the  jungles 
of  Hindostan  ;  the  hat,  that  overshadowed  his  sombre 
brow,  had  shielded  him  from  the  suns  of  Spain ;  but 
his  cheek  had  been  blackened  by  the  red-hot  wind  of 
an  Arabian  desert,  and  had  felt  the  frozen  breath  of 
an  Arctic  region.  Long  sojourning  amid  wild  and 

VOL.  II.  18 


278  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

dangerous  men,  he  still  wore  beneath  his  vest  the 
ataghan  which  he  had  once  struck  into  the  throat  of 
a  Turkish  robber.  In  every  foreign  clime  he  had 
lost  something  of  his  New  England  characteristics  ; 
and,  perhaps,  from  every  people  he  had  unconsciously 
borrowed  a  new  peculiarity  ;  so  that  when  the  world 
wanderer  again  trod  the  street  of  his  native  village, 
it  is  no  wonder  that  he  passed  unrecognised,  though 
exciting  the  gaze  and  curiosity  of  all.  Yet,  as  his 
arm  casually  touched  that  of  a  young  woman,  who 
was  wending  her  way  to  an  evening  lecture,  she 
started,  and  almost  uttered  a  cry. 

'  Ralph  Cranfield ! '  was  the  name  that  she  half 
articulated. 

'  Can  that  be  my  old  playmate,  Faith  Egerton  ? ' 
thought  the  traveller,  looking  round  at  her  figure,  but 
without  pausing. 

Ralph  Cranfield,  from  his  youth  upward,  had  felt 
himself  marked  out  for  a  high  destiny.  He  had 
imbibed  the  idea  —  we  say  not  whether  it  were 
revealed  to  him  by  witchcraft,  or  in  a  dream  of 
prophecy,  or  that  his  brooding  fancy  had  palmed  its 
own  dictates  upon  him  as  the  oracles  of  a  Sybil  —  but 
he  had  imbibed  the  idea,  and  held  it  firmest  among  his 
articles  of  faith,  that  three  marvellous  events  of  his 
life  were  to  be  confirmed  to  him  by  three  signs. 

The  first  of  these  three  fatalities,  and  perhaps  the 
one  on  which  his  youthful  imagination  had  dwelt 
most  fondly,  was  the  discovery  of  the  maid,  who 
alone,  of  all  the  maids  on  earth,  could  make  him 
happy  by  her  love.  He  was  to  roam  around  the 
world  till  he  should  meet  a  beautiful  woman,  wearing 
on  her  bosom  a  jewel  in  the  shape  of  a  heart ;  whether 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  279 

of  pearl,  or  ruby,  or  emerald,  or  carbuncle,  or  a 
changeful  opal,  or  perhaps  a  priceless  diamond,  Ralph 
Cranfield  little  cared,  so  long  as  it  were  a  heart  of  one 
peculiar  shape.  On  encountering  this  lovely  stranger, 
he  was  bound  to  address  her  thus  :  — c  Maiden,  I  have 
brought  you  a  heavy  heart.  May  I  rest  its  weight  on 
you  ? '  And  if  she  were  his  fated  bride  —  if  their 
kindred  souls  were  destined  to  form  a  union  here 
below,  which  all  eternity  should  only  bind  more 
closely  —  she  would  reply,  with  her  finger  on  the 
heart-shaped  jewel,  — '  This  token,  which  I  have  worn 
so  long,  is  the  assurance  that  you  may  ! ' 

And,  secondly,  Ralph  Cranneld  had  a  firm  belief 
that  there  was  a  mighty  treasure  hidden  somewhere 
in  the  earth,  of  which  the  burial-place  would  be 
revealed  to  none  but  him.  When  his  feet  should 
press  upon  the  mysterious  spot,  there  would  be  a  hand 
before  him,  pointing  downward  —  whether  carved  of 
marble,  or  hewn  in  gigantic  dimensions  on  the  side  of 
a  rocky  precipice,  or  perchance  a  hand  of  flame  in 
empty  air,  he  could  not  tell ;  but,  at  least,  he  would 
discern  a  hand,  the  forefinger  pointing  downward, 
and  beneath  it  the  Latin  word  EFFODE  —  Dig!  And 
digging  thereabouts,  the  gold  in  coin  or  ingots,  the 
precious  stones,  or  of  whatever  else  the  treasure  might 
consist,  would  be  certain  to  reward  his  toil. 

The  third  and  last  of  the  miraculous  events  in  the 
life  of  this  high- destined  man,  was  to  be  the  attain 
ment  of  extensive  influence  and  sway  over  his  fellow- 
creatures.  Whether  he  were  to  be  a  king,  and  founder 
of  an  hereditary  throne,  or  the  victorious  leader  of  a 
people  contending  for  their  freedom,  or  the  apostle  of 
a  purified  and  regenerated  faith,  was  left  for  futurity 


280  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

to  show.  As  messengers  of  the  sign,  by  which 
Ralph  Cranfield  might  recognise  the  summons,  three 
venerable  men  were  to  claim  audience  of  him.  The 
chief  among  them,  a  dignified  and  majestic  person, 
arrayed,  it  may  be  supposed,  in  the  flowing  garments 
of  an  ancient  sage,  would  be  the  bearer  of  a  wand,  or 
prophet's  rod.  With  this  wand,  or  rod,  or  staff,  the  ven 
erable  sage  would  trace  a  certain  figure  in  the  air,  and 
then  proceed  to  make  known  his  heaven-instructed  mes 
sage  ;  which,  if  obeyed,  must  lead  to  glorious  results. 

With  this  proud  fate  before  him,  in  the  flush  of  his 
imaginative  youth,  Ralph  Cranfield  had  set  forth  to 
seek  the  maid,  the  treasure,  and  the  venerable  sage, 
with  his  gift  of  extended  empire.  And  had  he  found 
them  ?  Alas  !  it  was  not  with  the  aspect  of  a  trium 
phant  man,  who  had  achieved  a  nobler  destiny  than 
all  his  fellows,  but  rather  with  the  gloom  of  one 
struggling  against  peculiar  and  continual  adversity, 
that  he  now  passed  homeward  to  his  mother's  cottage. 
He  had  come  back,  but  only  for  a  time,  to  lay  aside 
the  pilgrim's  staff,  trusting  that  his  weary  manhood 
would  regain  somewhat  of  the  elasticity  of  youth,  in 
the  spot  where  his  threefold  fate  had  been  foreshown 
him.  There  had  been  few  changes  in  the  village  ; 
for  it  was  not  one  of  those  thriving  places  where  a 
year's  prosperity  makes  more  than  the  havoc  of  a 
century's  decay  ;  but  like  a  gray  hair  in  a  young 
man's  head,  an  antiquated  little  town,  full  of  old 
maids,  and  aged  elms,  and  moss-grown  dwellings. 
Few  seemed  to  be  the  changes  here.  The  drooping 
elms,  indeed,  had  a  more  majestic  spread ;  the 
weather-blackened  houses  were  adorned  with  a  denser 
thatch  of  verdant  moss ;  and  doubtless  there  were  a 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  281 

few  more  grave-stones  in  the  burial-ground,  inscribed 
with  names  that  had  once  been  familiar  in  the  village 
street.  Yet,  summing  up  all  the  mischief  that  ten  years 
had  wrought,  it  seemed  scarcely  more  than  if  Ralph 
Cranfield  had  gone  forth  that  very  morning,  and  dreamed 
a  day-dream  till  the  twilight,  and  then  turned  back 
again.  But  his  heart  grew  cold,  because  the  village 
did  not  remember  him  as  he  remembered  the  village. 

'  Here  is  the  change  ! '  sighed  he,  striking  his  hand 
upon  his  breast.  '  Who  is  this  man  of  thought  and 
care,  weary  with  world- wandering,  and  heavy  with 
disappointed  hopes  ?  The  youth  returns  not,  who 
went  forth  so  joyously  ! ' 

And  now  Ralph  Cranfield  was  at  his  mother's  gate, 
in  front  of  the  small  house  where  the  old  lady,  with 
slender  but  sufficient  means,  had  kept  herself  com 
fortable  during  her  son's  long  absence.  Admitting 
himself  within  the  inclosure,  he  leaned  against  a 
great,  old  tree,  trifling  with  his  own  impatience,  as 
people  often  do  in  those  intervals  when  years  are 
summed  into  a  moment.  He  took  a  minute  survey 
of  the  dwelling  —  its  windows,  brightened  with  the 
sky  gleam,  its  doorway,  with  the  half  of  a  millstone 
for  a  step,  and  the  faintly  traced  path  waving  thence  to 
the  gate.  He  made  friends  again  with  his  childhood's 
friend,  the  old  tree  against  which  he  leaned ;  and 
glancing  his  eye  adown  its  trunk,  beheld  something 
that  excited  a  melancholy  smile.  It  was  a  half- 
obliterated  inscription  —  the  Latin  word  EFFODE  — 
which  he  remembered  to  have  carved  in  the  bark  of 
the  tree,  with  a  whole  day's  toil,  when  he  had  first 
begun  to  muse  about  his  exalted  destiny.  It  might  be 
accounted  a  rather  singular  coincidence,  that  the  bark, 


28'2  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

just  above  the  inscription,  had  put  forth  an  excres 
cence,  shaped  not  unlike  a  hand,  with  the  forefinger 
pointing  obliquely  at  the  word  of  fate.  Such,  at  least, 
was  its  appearance  in  the  dusky  light. 

4  Now  a  credulous  man,'  said  Ralph  Cranfield  care 
lessly  to  himself,  '  might  suppose  that  the  treasure 
which  I  have  sought  round  the  world,  lies  buried, 
after  all,  at  the  very  door  of  my  mother's  dwelling. 
That  would  be  a  jest  indeed  ! ' 

More  he  thought  not  about  the  matter  ;  for  now  the 
door  was  opened,  and  an  elderly  woman  appeared 
on  the  threshold,  peering  into  the  dusk  to  discover 
who  it  might  be  that  had  intruded  on  her  premises, 
and  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of  her  tree.  It  was 
Ralph  Cranfield's  mother.  Pass  we  over  their  greet 
ing,  and  leave  the  one  to  her  joy  and  the  other  to  his 
rest  —  if  quiet  rest  he  found. 

But  when  morning  broke,  he  arose  with  a  troubled 
brow ;  for  his  sleep  and  his  wakefulness  had  alike 
been  full  of  dreams.  All  the  fervor  was  rekindled 
with  which  he  had  burned  of  yore  to  unravel  the 
threefold  mystery  of  his  fate.  The  crowd  of  his 
early  visions  seemed  to  have  awaited  him  beneath 
his  mother's  roof,  and  thronged  riotously  around  to 
welcome  his  return.  In  the  well  remembered  cham 
ber —  on  the  pillow  where  his  infancy  had  slum 
bered —  he  had  passed  a  wilder  night  than  ever  in 
an  Arab  tent,  or  when  he  had  reposed  his  head  in 
the  ghastly  shades  of  a  haunted  forest.  A  shadowy 
maid  had  stolen  to  his  bedside,  and  laid  her  finger  on 
the  scintillating  heart ;  a  hand  of  flame  had  glowed 
amid  the  darkness,  pointing  downward  to  a  mystery 
within  the  earth ;  a  hoary  sage  had  waved  his  pro- 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  283 

phetic  wand,  and  beckoned  the  dreamer  onward  to  a 
chair  of  state.  The  same  phantoms,  though  fainter 
in  the  daylight,  still  flitted  about  the  cottage,  and 
mingled  among  the  crowd  of  familiar  faces  that  were 
drawn  thither  by  the  news  of  Ralph  Cranfield's  return, 
to  bid  him  welcome  for .  his  mother's  sake.  There 
they  found  him,  a  tall,  dark,  stately  man,  of  foreign 
aspect,  courteous  in  demeanor  and  mild  of  speech, 
yet  with  an  abstracted  eye,  which  seemed  often  to 
snatch  a  glance  at  the  invisible. 

Meantime  the  widow  Cranfield  went  bustling  about 
the  house,  full  of  joy  that  she  again  had  somebody  to 
love,  and  be  careful  of,  and  for  whom  she  might  vex 
and  tease  herself  with  the  petty  troubles  of  daily  life. 
It  was  nearly  noon,  when  she  looked  forth  from  the 
door,  and  descried  three  personages  of  note  coming 
along  the  street,  through  the  hot  sunshine  and  the 
masses  of  elm-tree  shade.  At  length  they  reached 
her  gate,  and  undid  the  latch. 

'  See,  Ralph  ! '  exclaimed  she,  with  maternal  pride, 
'  here  is  Squire  Hawkwood  and  the  two  other  select 
men,  coming  on  purpose  to  see  you !  Now  do  tell 
them  a  good  long  story  about  what  you  have  seen  in 
foreign  parts.' 

The  foremost  of  the  three  visitors,  Squire  Hawk- 
wood,  was  a  very  pompous,  but  excellent  old  gentle 
man,  the  head  and  prime  mover  in  all  the  affairs  of 
the  village,  and  universally  acknowledged  to  be  one 
of  the  sagest  men  on  earth.  He  wore,  according  to 
a  fashion  even  then  becoming  antiquated,  a  three- 
cornered  hat,  and  carried  a  silver-headed  cane,  the  use 
of  which  seemed  to  be  rather  for  flourishing  in  the 
air  than  for  assisting  the  progress  of  his  legs.  His 


284  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

two  companions  were  elderly  and  respectable  yeomen, 
who,  retaining  an  ante-revolutionary  reverence  for 
rank  and  hereditary  wealth,  kept  a  little  in  the  Squire's 
rear.  As  they  approached  along  the  pathway,  Ralph 
Cranfield  sat  in  an  oaken  elbow  chair,  half  uncon 
sciously  gazing  at  the  three  visitors,  and  enveloping 
their  homely  figures  in  the  misty  romance  that  per 
vaded  his  mental  world. 

'  Here,'  thought  he,  smiling  at  the  conceit,  '  here 
come  three  elderly  personages,  and  the  first  of  the 
three  is  a  venerable  sage  with  a  staff.  What  if  this 
embassy  should  bring  me  the  message  of  my  fate  ! ' 

While  Squire  Hawkwood  and  his  colleagues  en 
tered,  Ralph  rose  from  his  seat,  and  advanced  a 
few  steps  to  receive  them ;  and  his  stately  figure 
and  dark  countenance,  as  he  bent  courteously  towards 
his  guests,  had  a  natural  dignity ;  contrasting  well 
with  the  bustling  importance  of  the  Squire.  The  old 
gentleman,  according  to  invariable  custom,  gave  an 
elaborate  preliminary  flourish  with  his  cane  in  the  air, 
then  removed  his  three-cornered  hat  in  order  to  wipe  his 
brow,  and  finally  proceeded  to  make  known  his  errand. 

1  My  colleagues  and  myself,'  began  the  Squire, 
1  are  burthened  with  momentous  duties,  being  jointly 
selectmen  of  this  village.  Our  minds,  for  the  space 
of  three  days  past,  have  been  laboriously  bent  on  the 
selection  of  a  suitable  person  to  fill  a  most  important 
office,  and  take  upon  himself  a  charge  and  rule, 
which,  wisely  considered,  may  be  ranked  no  lower 
than  those  of  kings  and  potentates.  And  whereas 
you,  our  native  townsman,  are  of  good  natural  intel 
lect,  and  well  cultivated  by  foreign  travel,  and  that 
certain  vagaries  and  fantasies  of  your  youth  are 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  285 

doubtless  long  ago  corrected ;  taking  all  these  mat 
ters,  I  say,  into  due  consideration,  we  are  of  opinion 
that  Providence  hath  sent  you  hither,  at  this  juncture, 
for  our  very  purpose.' 

During  this  harangue,  Cranfield  gazed  fixedly  at 
the  speaker,  as  if  he  beheld  something  mysterious 
and  unearthly  in  his  pompous  little  figure,  and  as  if 
the  Squire  had  worn  the  flowing  robes  of  an  ancient 
sage,  instead  of  a  square-skirted  coat,  flapped  waist 
coat,  velvet  breeches  and  silk  stockings.  Nor  was  his 
wonder  without  sufficient  cause  ;  for  the  flourish  of  the 
Squire's  staff,  marvellous  to  relate,  had  described  pre 
cisely  the  signal  in  the  air  which  was  to  ratify  the 
message  of  the  prophetic  Sage,  whom  Cranfield  had 
sought  around  the  world. 

4  And  what,'  inquired  Ralph  Cranfield,  with  a  tremor 
in  his  voice, '  what  may  this  office  be,  which  is  to  equal 
me  with  kings  and  potentates  ?  ' 

'  No  less  than  instructor  of  our  village  school,'  an 
swered  Squire  Hawkwood ;  '  the  office  being  now 
vacant  by  the  death  of  the  venerable  Master  Whitaker, 
after  a  fifty  years'  incumbency.' 

'  I  will  consider  -of  your  proposal,'  replied  Ralph 
Cranfield,  hurriedly,  '  and  will  make  known  my  de 
cision  within  three  days.' 

After  a  few  more  words,  the  village  dignitary  and 
his  companions  took  their  leave.  But  to  Cranfield's 
fancy  their  images  were  still  present,  and  became 
more  and  more  invested  with  the  dim  aw  fulness  of 
figures  which  had  first  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream, 
and  afterwards  had  shown  themselves  in  his  waking 
moments,  assuming  homely  aspects  among  familiar 

VOL.    II.  19 


286  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

things.  His  mind  dwelt  upon  the  features  of  the 
Squire,  till  they  grew  confused  with  those  of  the  vis 
ionary  Sage,  and  one  appeared  but  the  shadow  of  the 
other.  The  same  visage,  he  now  thought,  had  looked 
forth  upon  him  from  the  Pyramid  of  Cheops  ;  the 
same  form  had  beckoned  to  him  among  the  colonnades 
of  the  Alhambra ;  the  same  figure  had  mistily  revealed 
itself  through  the  ascending  steam  of  the  Great  Geyser. 
At  every  effort  of  his  memory  he  recognised  some  trait 
of  the  dreamy  Messenger  of  Destiny,  in  this  pompous, 
bustling,  self-important,  little  great  man  of  the  village. 
Amid  such  musings,  Ralph  Cranfield  sat  all  day  in  the 
cottage,  scarcely  hearing  and  vaguely  answering  his 
mother's  thousand  questions  about  his  travels  and  ad 
ventures.  At  sunset,  he  roused  himself  to  take  a 
stroll,  and,  passing  the  aged  elm  tree,  his  eye  was 
again  caught  by  the  semblance  of  a  hand,  pointing 
downward  at  the  half-obliterated  inscription. 

As  Cranfield  walked  down  the  street  of  the  village, 
the  level  sunbeams  threw  his  shadow  far  before  him ; 
and  he  fancied  that,  as  his  shadow  walked  among 
distant  objects,  so  had  there  been  a  presentiment 
stalking  in  advance  of  him  throughout  his  life.  And 
when  he  drew  near  each  object,  over  which  his  tall 
shadow  had  preceded  him,  still  it  proved  to  be  one  of 
the  familiar  recollections  of  his  infancy  and  youth. 
Every  crook  in  the  pathway  was  remembered.  Even 
the  more  transitory  characteristics  of  the  scene  were 
the  same  as  in  by-gone  days.  A  company  of  cows 
were  grazing  on  the  grassy  roadside,  and  refreshed 
him  with  their  fragrant  breath.  '  It  is  sweeter,'  thought 
he,  4  than  the  perfume  which  was  wafted  to  our  ship 
from  the  Spice  Islands.'  The  round  little  figure  of  a 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  287 

child  rolled  from  a  doorway,  and  lay  laughing,  almost 
beneath  Cranfield's  feet.  The  dark  and  stately  man 
stooped  down,  and,  lifting  the  infant,  restored  him  to 
his  mother's  arms.  '  The  children,'  said  he  to  himself 
—  and-  sighed,  and  smiled  — c  the  children  are  to  be 
my  charge ! '  And  while  a  flow  of  natural  feeling 
gushed  like  a  well-spring  in  his  heart,  he  came  to  a 
dwelling  which  he  could  nowise  forbear  to  enter.  A 
sweet  voice,  which  seemed  to  come  from  a  deep  and 
tender  soul,  was  warbling  a  plaintive  little  air,  within. 

He  bent  his  head,  and  passed  through  the  lowly 
door.  As  his  foot  sounded  upon  the  threshold,  a 
young  woman  advanced  from  the  dusky  interior  of 
the  house,  at  first  hastily,  and  then  with  a  more  uncer 
tain  step,  till  they  met  face  to  face.  There  was  a 
singular  contrast  in  their  two  figures ;  he  dark  and 
picturesque  —  one  who  had  battled  with  the  world  — 
whom  all  suns  had  shone  upon,  and  whom  all  winds 
had  blown  on  a  varied  course  ;  she  neat,  comely,  and 
quiet  —  quiet  even  in  her  agitation  —  as  if  all  her 
emotions  had  been  subdued  to  the  peaceful  tenor  of 
her  life.  Yet  their  faces,  all  unlike  as  they  were,  had 
an  expression  that  seemed  not  so  alien  —  a  glow  of 
kindred  feeling,  flashing  upward  anew  from  half- 
extinguished  embers. 

4  You  are  welcome  home  ! '  said  Faith  Egerton. 

But  Cranfield  did  not  immediately  answer ;  for  his 
eye  had  been  caught  by  an  ornament  in  the  shape  of 
a  Heart,  which  Faith  wore  as  a  brooch  upon  her 
bosom.  The  material  was  the  ordinary  white  quartz  ; 
and  he  recollected  having  himself  shaped  it  out  of 
one  of  those  Indian  arrow-heads,  which  are  so  often 
found  in  the  ancient  haunts  of  the  red  men.  It  was 


288  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

precisely  on  the  pattern  of  that  worn  by  the  visionary 
Maid.  When  Cranfield  departed  on  his  shadowy  search 
he  had  bestowed  this  brooch,  in  a  gold  setting,  as  a 
parting  gift  to  Faith  Egerton. 

4  So,  Faith,  you  have  kept  the  Heart ! '  said  he,  at 
length. 

4  Yes,'  said  she,  blushing  deeply  —  then  more  gaily, 
1  and  what  else  have  you  brought  me  from  beyond  the 
sea?' 

4  Faith ! '  replied  Ralph  Cranfield,  uttering  the  fated 
words  by  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  '  I  have  brought 
you  nothing  but  a  heavy  heart !  May  I  rest  its  weight 
on  you  ? ' 

'This  token,  which  I  have  worn  so  long,'. said  Faith, 
laying  her  tremulous  finger  on  the  Heart,  '  is  the  as 
surance  that  you  may  ! ' 

4  Faith  !  Faith  ! '  cried  Cranfield,  clasping  her  in  his 
arms, 4  you  have  interpreted  my  wild  and  weary  dream  ! ' 

Yes,  the  wild  dreamer  was  awake  at  last.  To  find 
the  mysterious  treasure,  he  was  to  till  the  earth  around 
his  mother's  dwelling,  and  reap  its  products !  Instead 
of  warlike  command,  or  regal  or  religious  sway,  he 
was  to  rule  over  the  village  children !  And  now  the 
visionary  Maid  had  faded  from  his  fancy,  and  in  her 
place  he  saw  the  playmate  of  his  childhood  !  Would 
all,  who  cherish  such  wild  wishes,  but  look  around 
them,  they  would  oftenest  find  their  sphere  of  duty,  of 
prosperity,  and  happiness,  within  those  precincts,  and 
in  that  station,  where  Providence  itself  has  cast  their 
lot.  Happy  they  who  read  the  riddle,  without  a  weary 
world-search,  or  a  lifetime  spent  in  vain  ! 

THE  END. 


RETURN    CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
TO—*    202  Main  Library 

LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

Renewals  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the  due  da 

Books  may  be  Renewed  by  calling        642-3405 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

NOV  2  7  199 

£)V  0/20 

FORM  NO.  DD6 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERK 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


